Peyton, who had been preening by the door, suddenly went rigid. The silver pen slipped from her fingers, clattering loudly against the linoleum floor.
“But he had a vasectomy two months ago!” Peyton blurted out, her voice pitching upward in panic. “I booked the clinic for him myself!”
“Exactly,” Dr. Sutton replied, turning her sharp gaze to Peyton. “And this pregnancy began a full month before that procedure took place.”
Something massive and heavy broke loose inside me. It wasn’t forgiveness. It wasn’t peace. It was the intoxicating, raw oxygen of vindication.
David leaned closer to the screen, his knuckles turning white as he gripped the edge of the machine. “No. The dates must be wrong. The machine is calibrated incorrectly.”
“A few days can vary in an ultrasound. Not an entire month,” Dr. Sutton said, her voice echoing with finality. “Furthermore, a vasectomy does not render a man instantly sterile. Standard protocol requires follow-up testing to confirm zero sperm count. Did you complete your post-operative semen analysis?”
David said nothing. His throat worked as he swallowed hard.
There it was. The microscopic, devastating truth.
“You didn’t get tested?” Peyton hissed, rounding on him, her mask of sweet superiority completely shattering.
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