Please Come Back, My Love Chapter 69

Julian: POV

A week had passed since Dr. Morgan dropped that bomb about the AFP levels, and today I was taking Elena for the amniocentesis.

I'd spent those seven days researching every possible outcome, reading medical journals at three in the morning, consulting with specialists who owed me favors.

The numbers kept swimming in my head—one in fifteen chance of chromosomal abnormality, ninety-three percent accuracy rate, point-five percent risk of miscarriage from the procedure itself.

Every statistic felt like a knife.

Elena sat beside me in the Bentley, her hands folded in her lap, that damned silver bracelet from Parsons catching the morning light. She'd been quiet all morning. Too quiet.

"You okay?" I asked, though I knew the answer.

She turned to look at me, those amber eyes shadowed with exhaustion. "Julian, I need to tell you something."

My hands tightened on the steering wheel. "What?"

"The past week... I keep feeling like someone's watching me." Her voice was small, uncertain. "When I go out. To the café, the grocery store. There's this guy. Dark hoodie, sunglasses. He's always there."

Ice flooded my veins. "Why didn't you tell me this sooner?"

"I wasn't sure!" She twisted her hands together. "I thought maybe I was being paranoid. Pregnancy hormones, you know? But it keeps happening—"

"Elena." I pulled over, right there on Park Avenue, ignoring the honking behind us. "Someone following you is not paranoia."

"I know." Her voice cracked. "That's why I'm telling you now. But I also wanted to say... thank you. For the bodyguard. Adrian told me yesterday that you'd assigned someone to keep an eye on me."

"You figured that out?" I reached over, cupping her face. "I should have told you. But I didn't want to scare you."

"I'm already scared." She leaned into my palm, and fuck, that simple gesture made my chest tight. "Of everything. The baby, the test today, that creepy guy—"

"Hey." I kissed her forehead, soft and slow. "That's exactly why the bodyguard is there. I trust your instincts, which is why I took precautions. But I don't want you to carry this stress alone. Let me worry about who's out there; you just focus on us and the baby."

"You think so?"

No. I thought someone was actually following her, and I was going to find out who and end them. But I couldn't tell her that right now.

"I think you're stressed," I said instead. "Which is normal. We're about to stick a needle in your belly to test our baby. Anyone would be on edge."

She nodded slowly.

---

The waiting room at NewYork-Presbyterian smelled like antiseptic and fear. Elena sat beside me, bouncing her knee, that automatic hand going to her stomach every few seconds.

"Mrs. Sterling?" A nurse appeared. "We're ready for you."

The procedure room was cold. Sterile white walls, machines beeping, a padded table in the center like some kind of sacrifice altar.

Dr. Morgan was already gloved up, that practiced smile on her face. "Good morning. How are we feeling?"

"Terrified," Elena said flatly.

I took her hand. Squeezed. "We're fine."

The ultrasound gel was clear and cold on Elena's stomach. That small swell—barely visible under her loose sweater—seemed more pronounced now. More real.

The screen flickered to life. Gray shapes resolved into our baby. Bigger now. I could see the spine, the tiny fingers, the chambers of the heart beating steadily.

"Beautiful," Dr. Morgan murmured. "Perfect position. This should be very straightforward."

Elena's hand clenched mine hard enough to hurt.

"The needle will create some pressure," the doctor continued. "Maybe cramping. But try to stay still. We'll be guided by the ultrasound the entire time."

I watched that needle enter her skin—long, thin, wickedly sharp. Elena gasped, her whole body tensing.

"Breathe," I whispered against her temple. "I've got you."

She did. Slow, shaky breaths while Dr. Morgan extracted the amniotic fluid. It took maybe two minutes. Felt like two hours.

"All done." The doctor pressed gauze to the injection site. "You did great, Elena."

Elena just stared at the ceiling, tears sliding into her hair.

I wiped them away. "It's over."

"When do we get results?" My voice came out rougher than I'd intended.

"About two weeks." Dr. Morgan helped Elena sit up. "We'll call as soon as the lab processes everything. In the meantime, rest for twenty-four hours. No heavy lifting. Call immediately if you have any bleeding or severe cramping."

Two weeks.

Fourteen days of not knowing if our baby was—

I shoved the thought down. Locked it away with all the other shit I couldn't deal with.

---

The drive home was silent. Elena sat with both hands pressed to her stomach, eyes closed, face pale as death.

I wanted to say something. Anything. But the words stuck in my throat like glass.

Because I knew what I had to ask. And I knew it was going to destroy whatever fragile truce we'd built over the past week.

"Julian." Her voice was so quiet I almost didn't hear it. "What happens if something's wrong?"

My hands tightened on the steering wheel. "We deal with it."

"How?"

The question hung between us like smoke.

I could feel her watching me. Waiting. Needing me to say the right thing.

But all I could think about was Dr. Morgan's clinical voice: *One in fifteen chance of Down syndrome or other chromosomal abnormalities. Varying degrees of severity. Lifelong care requirements.*

**Part of me wanted to leave it alone. To wait for the results before crossing that bridge. But another part—the part that had spent a week reading about special needs care, lifelong medical expenses, the strain on marriages—needed to know where she stood. Needed to understand if she'd considered the reality of what "dealing with it" might actually mean.

I hated myself for even thinking it, but I had to know.

"Elena." I pulled over along Central Park. The trees were bare now, skeletal against the gray November sky. "I need to ask you something."

She turned to face me, those amber eyes too bright.

"If the results come back and there's... a problem." I chose my words carefully. "A serious chromosomal issue. Would you consider—" I stopped. Started again. "What I mean is, maybe it would be better to... to try again. When we're ready. When we can give a child the best possible start."

The silence that followed was deafening.

"You're asking me to terminate." Her voice was flat. Dead.

"I'm asking if we should think about our options—"