Her Baby’s Not My Husband's - Chapter 3: Chapter 3
You are reading Her Baby’s Not My Husband's, Chapter 3: Chapter 3. Read more chapters of Her Baby’s Not My Husband's.
"Mrs. Johnson, would you mind performing the procedure now? I did everything you asked."
Jessica stood before me with that picture-perfect smile, all sweetness and light—except for the venom glinting in her eyes. The stranger beside her looked like he'd stepped out of a bad soap opera—tall, polished, but stiff as a mannequin. My stomach dropped. They weren't letting this go. They'd actually hired some actor to play her doting fiancé to keep up this sick charade.
I was scrambling for a way out when my phone buzzed—the hospital's vice director.
His Student Did 196, 1 Tampered with the Embryo
"Lola," he began, that fake-casual tone barely masking the steel beneath. "Jessica's family are close friends. You understand how delicate this is—she needs this pregnancy to secure the marriage."
My grip on the phone turned white-knuckled. This wasn't the VP talking—this was Isaac's hand up the man's back like some twisted puppet show.
"You're our top specialist—the best in the nation," he pressed, oozing false warmth. "Harvard-trained, weren't you? That's why I'm entrusting this to you personally."
Silence. My jaw clenched so hard it ached.
"And Lola?" His voice dropped to a stage whisper. "I'd hate for this to... complicate your promotion review next quarter."
Click. No rebuttal, no appeal—just the trap snapping shut. I could practically hear Isaac's smug grin through the dead line. Jessica's father fixed carburetors in some backwater garage—no way he had hospital board connections. This reeked of Isaac's meddling, and Jessica's smirk confirmed it. That tiny, triumphant curl of her lips said it all.
Fine. If she wanted a baby so badly, she'd get one—just not the one she bargained for.
I inhaled sharply, plastering on my professional mask. "Very well. Let's begin." Jessica practically vibrated with glee as I slid the consent forms across my desk. She signed with a flourish, her "fiancé" adding a clumsy signature that looked about as real as his affection for her.
In the OR, Jessica floated into anesthesia with the serene smile of someone who'd already won. The moment the door shut behind her nervous "husband," I made my move. The sperm vial swap took three seconds flat—years of practice made it effortless. The replacement donor sample was pristine, meticulously cataloged.
My resident handled the rest, bright-eyed and eager to impress. I slipped out unnoticed, my part done.
Back in my office, I shrugged off my white coat for the last time. The resignation letter practically jumped into the department secretary's hands as I strode past without a backward glance.
Isaac came home to a tomb that night. Furniture intact, but every trace of me—gone.
"Lola?" His voice bounced off empty walls.
I waited in the living room, divorce papers stacked neatly on the coffee table. His face cycled through confusion, panic, then that pathetic wounded-puppy look he'd perfected.
"What the hell is this?"
I pushed the papers forward. "Fifty-fifty split. Sign them."
His hands actually shook. "Baby, talk to me! Whatever's wrong, we can—"
"Save it." My voice could've frozen hell. "This happens today, or I take you to court. And trust me—I'll win."
For one glorious second, his mask cracked. Real fear flashed behind those lying eyes before the performance resumed—the pleading, the empty promises. Old me might've folded. But the woman who remembered dying alone in that hospital bed? She didn't flinch.
He signed like a man penning his own death warrant.
"I'll see you in court after the cooling-off period," I said, snatching the documents.
I thought it was over. I should've known better.
The day before our court date, Jessica stormed the hospital lobby like a hurricane in designer heels. Gone was the poised socialite—this was pure, unfiltered rage.
"Dr. Johnson butchered me!" Her shriek bounced off the marble floors. A crowd materialized instantly, phones already recording. "She killed my baby and sterilized me!"
Gasps rippled through the gathering. Former patients clutched their stomachs, old grief twisting into fresh anger.
"That witch ruined us too!" a woman howled from the mob.
Chaos erupted. Security radios crackled. My residents herded bystanders back as the VP's panicked call buzzed in my pocket:
"Lola, get down here NOW—this is a goddamn riot!"
Jessica stood before me with that picture-perfect smile, all sweetness and light—except for the venom glinting in her eyes. The stranger beside her looked like he'd stepped out of a bad soap opera—tall, polished, but stiff as a mannequin. My stomach dropped. They weren't letting this go. They'd actually hired some actor to play her doting fiancé to keep up this sick charade.
I was scrambling for a way out when my phone buzzed—the hospital's vice director.
His Student Did 196, 1 Tampered with the Embryo
"Lola," he began, that fake-casual tone barely masking the steel beneath. "Jessica's family are close friends. You understand how delicate this is—she needs this pregnancy to secure the marriage."
My grip on the phone turned white-knuckled. This wasn't the VP talking—this was Isaac's hand up the man's back like some twisted puppet show.
"You're our top specialist—the best in the nation," he pressed, oozing false warmth. "Harvard-trained, weren't you? That's why I'm entrusting this to you personally."
Silence. My jaw clenched so hard it ached.
"And Lola?" His voice dropped to a stage whisper. "I'd hate for this to... complicate your promotion review next quarter."
Click. No rebuttal, no appeal—just the trap snapping shut. I could practically hear Isaac's smug grin through the dead line. Jessica's father fixed carburetors in some backwater garage—no way he had hospital board connections. This reeked of Isaac's meddling, and Jessica's smirk confirmed it. That tiny, triumphant curl of her lips said it all.
Fine. If she wanted a baby so badly, she'd get one—just not the one she bargained for.
I inhaled sharply, plastering on my professional mask. "Very well. Let's begin." Jessica practically vibrated with glee as I slid the consent forms across my desk. She signed with a flourish, her "fiancé" adding a clumsy signature that looked about as real as his affection for her.
In the OR, Jessica floated into anesthesia with the serene smile of someone who'd already won. The moment the door shut behind her nervous "husband," I made my move. The sperm vial swap took three seconds flat—years of practice made it effortless. The replacement donor sample was pristine, meticulously cataloged.
My resident handled the rest, bright-eyed and eager to impress. I slipped out unnoticed, my part done.
Back in my office, I shrugged off my white coat for the last time. The resignation letter practically jumped into the department secretary's hands as I strode past without a backward glance.
Isaac came home to a tomb that night. Furniture intact, but every trace of me—gone.
"Lola?" His voice bounced off empty walls.
I waited in the living room, divorce papers stacked neatly on the coffee table. His face cycled through confusion, panic, then that pathetic wounded-puppy look he'd perfected.
"What the hell is this?"
I pushed the papers forward. "Fifty-fifty split. Sign them."
His hands actually shook. "Baby, talk to me! Whatever's wrong, we can—"
"Save it." My voice could've frozen hell. "This happens today, or I take you to court. And trust me—I'll win."
For one glorious second, his mask cracked. Real fear flashed behind those lying eyes before the performance resumed—the pleading, the empty promises. Old me might've folded. But the woman who remembered dying alone in that hospital bed? She didn't flinch.
He signed like a man penning his own death warrant.
"I'll see you in court after the cooling-off period," I said, snatching the documents.
I thought it was over. I should've known better.
The day before our court date, Jessica stormed the hospital lobby like a hurricane in designer heels. Gone was the poised socialite—this was pure, unfiltered rage.
"Dr. Johnson butchered me!" Her shriek bounced off the marble floors. A crowd materialized instantly, phones already recording. "She killed my baby and sterilized me!"
Gasps rippled through the gathering. Former patients clutched their stomachs, old grief twisting into fresh anger.
"That witch ruined us too!" a woman howled from the mob.
Chaos erupted. Security radios crackled. My residents herded bystanders back as the VP's panicked call buzzed in my pocket:
"Lola, get down here NOW—this is a goddamn riot!"
End of Her Baby’s Not My Husband's Chapter 3. Continue reading Chapter 4 or return to Her Baby’s Not My Husband's book page.