Please Come Back, My Love Chapter 67

Julian: POV

The appointment was scheduled for two-thirty on a Thursday.

I'd cleared my entire afternoon—cancelled a board meeting, pushed back a call with Tokyo, told Marcus to handle the Phillips merger without me. None of it mattered. Not today.

Elena had been nervous all morning. I could tell by the way she kept touching her stomach, that unconscious gesture she'd developed over the past few weeks. Four months along now, and she was just starting to show—a gentle curve beneath her oversized sweaters that made something tighten in my chest every time I looked at it.

"You don't have to come," she'd said at breakfast, stirring her tea without drinking it. "I know you're busy."

I'd reached across the table and taken her hand. "I want to."

Somewhere along the way, they'd started mattering to me too.

Now, sitting in the driver's seat of my Bentley—I'd scooped Elena up and deposited her in the passenger seat when she'd tried to drive herself, refusing to let her get behind the wheel when she was this anxious—I kept one hand wrapped around hers while steering with the other.

"Hey." I covered her hand with mine. "It's just a routine checkup. Everything's going to be fine."

She glanced at me, and for a second, that old wariness flickered in her eyes. Like she was waiting for me to take it back. To say something cruel.

I leaned over and kissed her forehead instead.

"I'm here," I murmured against her skin. "I'm not going anywhere."

Her breath hitched. Then she nodded, and some of the tension bled out of her shoulders.

"Okay," she whispered.

---

The hospital smelled like disinfectant and industrial coffee.

Elena checked in at the front desk while I stood beside her, one hand resting on the small of her back. The receptionist gave us that knowing smile.

We were called back after ten minutes.

The exam room was small and sterile, decorated with pastel posters about fetal development and breastfeeding. Elena sat on the paper-covered table, her legs swinging slightly, and I took the chair beside her.

"Nervous?" I asked.

She nodded. "A little."

I reached for her hand again. She let me take it.

The door opened, and Dr. Rachel Morgan walked in—mid-fifties, silver-streaked hair pulled back in a neat bun, the kind of calm competence that probably put most patients at ease.

"Elena, Julian." She smiled. "How are we feeling today?"

"Good," Elena said quickly. Too quickly.

Dr. Morgan pulled up her chart on the computer. "Any issues since your last visit? Nausea? Spotting?"

"No. I mean—the nausea's better. And no spotting."

"Good. Let's take a look at this baby, shall we?"

Elena lay back, and I moved to stand beside her. Dr. Morgan squirted gel onto her stomach—Elena flinched at the cold—and pressed the ultrasound wand against her skin.

The monitor flickered to life.

And there it was.

A tiny, flickering heartbeat. Arms and legs, curled in on themselves. A head, a spine.

"There's your baby," Dr. Morgan said.

I stared at the screen.

I'd seen ultrasounds before—at the twelve-week appointment, when I'd barely been able to process what I was looking at. But now...

Now it looked like a person.

My chest tightened.

"Everything looks good developmentally," Dr. Morgan continued, moving the wand. "Heartbeat's strong. Measurements are right on track for sixteen weeks."

Elena's hand found mine. Her fingers were warm now, relaxed.

"That's wonderful," she breathed.

Dr. Morgan smiled and wiped the gel from Elena's stomach. "I'll print out some images for you. Mr. Sterling, could I have a word with you in my office? Just some paperwork regarding the next appointment."

I felt Elena's hand tense slightly.

"It'll just take a minute," Dr. Morgan said easily. "Elena, you can get dressed. We'll be right back."

Elena nodded, though her eyes searched my face.

I squeezed her hand. "I'll be right outside."

---

Dr. Morgan's office was down the hall—small, cluttered with medical journals and family photos. She closed the door behind us.

And her expression changed.

"Mr. Sterling, I need to discuss Elena's bloodwork from last week."

My stomach dropped.

"What about it?"

She pulled up something on her computer screen. Charts. Numbers that meant nothing to me.

"Her AFP levels—alpha-fetoprotein—came back significantly elevated. Combined with her age and the ultrasound measurements, I'm concerned about potential chromosomal abnormalities."

The words hit me like a fist to the gut.

"What kind of abnormalities?"

"The most common would be Down syndrome. Based on the screening results, I'd estimate the risk at approximately one in fifteen."

One in fifteen.

I stared at her.

"That's—that's high?"

"Higher than average, yes. We'd need to do an amniocentesis to confirm, but given the numbers—"

"What does that mean?" I cut her off. "If it's... if the baby has Down syndrome?"

Dr. Morgan's expression softened. "It would mean lifelong care. Developmental delays. Potential heart defects, thyroid issues. Every case is different, but—"

"I need options."

She paused. "Options?"

"If the test confirms it. What are our options?"

Her eyes held mine. "You'd have time to make a decision. Some families choose to continue the pregnancy. Others—"

"Others terminate."

"Yes."

The word hung between us.

"Does Elena know?" I asked.

"Not yet. I wanted to speak with you first, given the nature of—"

"Don't tell her."

Dr. Morgan's eyebrows rose. "Mr. Sterling—"

"Not yet," I said. "I need to process this. We'll schedule the amnio, but I don't want her panicking until we know for certain."

"Julian, she has a right to—"

"She's my wife." My voice came out harder than I intended. "And she's already stressed. I'll tell her when the time is right."

Dr. Morgan looked like she wanted to argue. But something in my expression must have stopped her.

"Alright," she said quietly. "But you need to tell her soon. Before we schedule any procedures."

"I will."

---

When I came back to the exam room, Elena was sitting on the edge of the table, fully dressed, studying the ultrasound photos.

She looked up and smiled. "Look—you can see the fingers."

I moved to her side, and she leaned against me.

"Everything okay?" she asked. "With the paperwork?"

"Fine," I said. "Just scheduling the next appointment."

Another lie.

She pressed one of the photos into my hand. "For your wallet."

I stared down at the grainy black-and-white image.

Our baby.

Maybe.

Or maybe something else. Something broken. Something that would need constant care, constant attention, constant—

"Julian?"

I blinked and looked at her.

"You okay?" she asked softly. "You look pale."

I forced a smile and kissed her forehead. "I'm fine. Let's go home."

---

The drive back was quiet.

Elena kept looking at the ultrasound photos, tracing her finger over the tiny outline. I kept my eyes on the road, but my mind was a thousand miles away.

One in fifteen.

The phrase played on repeat in my head.

What would it mean if the test came back positive?

I'd built my life on control. On making the right decisions. On cutting losses when necessary.

This was just another decision. Wasn't it?

But even as I thought it, I felt sick. ‘This is my and Elena's child. Our child. But fuck, what if the baby has some defect? Kids can be cruel as hell. The bullying, the stares, the whispers... And the challenges they'd face, every single day harder than it should be. Jesus Christ, am I a monster for even asking this? Should I... should we really bring this child into a world that might tear them apart?’

"Julian."

Her voice cut through my thoughts.

I glanced over. She was watching me, her brow furrowed.

"What's wrong?" she asked. "You've been weird since we left the doctor's office."

"Nothing's wrong."

"Don't lie to me." Her hand touched my wrist. "What did she say to you?"

I pulled into our building's garage. Parked. Turned off the engine.

And sat there.

"Julian." Her voice was trembling now. "You're scaring me. What is it? Is something wrong with the baby?"