Her Baby’s Not My Husband's - Chapter 4: Chapter 4

"First of all, IVF isn't a magic bullet!" My voice sliced through the rising chaos, sharp and unyielding. The moment I'd gotten the call, I'd rushed back to the hospital, and now I stood tall, locking eyes with each protester. "Find me one obstetrician who can promise a successful pregnancy under these conditions—just one!"
The crowd's angry murmurs faltered. Reason was starting to chip away at their outrage. "Besides," I added, my tone icy, "I resigned a month ago. Storming this hospital won't change a damn thing." The lobby lights glared overhead, but the real weight in the air came from the hostility thickening around me. Faces twisted in anger, voices rising and falling—some were already hesitating, exchanging uneasy glances.
A voice broke through from the back. "She's got a point." A middle-aged man stood with his wife's hand clutched in his. "No doctor can guarantee IVF success. There are too many variables."
Another nod. "And if she's already quit, what's the point of this circus?"
For a split second, relief flickered in my chest. Last time, fear had paralyzed me. This time? I didn't flinch.
But Jessica wasn't done. Her lips curled into a vicious smirk, and she played her next move with practiced theatrics. "We followed every instruction, and I still didn't get pregnant. Doesn't that mean you failed?" Her voice cracked just right—a perfect performance.
Before I could counter, she lunged forward, finger jabbing at me, tears streaking her cheeks. "You destroyed my chance to have a baby! How do we even know you're a real doctor? You probably cut corners—that's why it didn't work!"
The crowd erupted. A pack of middle-aged women—fellow IVF veterans with their own heartbreaks—surged behind her, wailing like a Greek chorus of grief. The lobby dissolved into bedlam.
Jessica dropped to her knees, sobbing into her hands, a picture of devastation. And then—ping. A notification echoed. She'd gone live.
The camera zoomed in on her tear-streaked face as she spun her tragedy for the internet. "She ruined me!" Jessica wailed to the growing stream. "She took my baby, and now I'll never be a mother!"
The comments exploded:
[Monster!]
[Revoke her license!]
[Justice for Jessica!]
The mob turned feral, venom dripping from their shouts. A plastic bottle sailed past, bouncing off my shoulder. Insults rained down, each one sharper than the last.
But I didn't move. I'd lived this before—same script, same lies. This time? They wouldn't break me.
"You claim you're infertile now. Where's the proof?" My voice stayed steady, a rock in the storm.
Jessica's tears hiccuped—just for a second—before she whipped out a lab report, thrusting it at me. "See for yourself! Your procedure caused a miscarriage and destroyed my fertility!" She waved it like a trophy for the cameras.
I didn't blink. "There's a world of difference between infertility from miscarriage and from choosing to end a pregnancy." My gaze snapped to my student hovering at the crowd's edge. "Check that report. It won't take long."
The young doctor bolted down the hall. Jessica's mask slipped—just a flicker of panic—before she rallied. "And she's corrupt!" she shrieked. "Her own husband will tell you!"
On cue, Isaac stepped forward, smug as ever. "I'm Isaac Johnson, Lola's husband." He oozed faux-gravitas for the cameras. "Every word's true. She took bribes, faked credentials—her incompetence is criminal."
My fists clenched, but my face stayed calm.
"Because she can't have kids," Jessica hissed, venom dripping, "she sabotaged me out of jealousy!"
The crowd lost it.
[Fraud!]
[Monster!]
[Lock her up!]
A coffee cup exploded at my feet. Crumpled paper hit my arm. Then—a middle-aged woman lunged, yanking my hair so hard my knees slammed into tile. Pain shot through my scalp as she screeched, "You'll pay for what you did!"
Hands grabbed at my coat. Someone spat. For a heartbeat, I thought they'd trample me.
Then—security. Their shouts cut through the chaos, shoving the mob back. I straightened, knees stinging, hair disheveled, but my chin stayed up.
The young doctor returned, pale but resolute, handing me the file. One glance confirmed it: Jessica had chosen abortion.
I pulled up the recording on my phone. Jessica's voice filled the room: "Mrs. Johnson, you're head of obstetrics. You can make IVF happen without a marriage certificate, right?"
I locked eyes with her. "Your report proves you ended the pregnancy. Your infertility is your doing."
Her mouth gaped like a fish.
"And as for 'violating procedures'—" I held up the consent form. "You signed this. With your real marriage certificate. Every rule was followed."
Silence.