Jamison couldn’t be bothered to explain in detail. He just said bluntly, “I took Ivy for a check-up. It’s an ectopic pregnancy. We can’t keep it.”

He didn’t want to go into the specifics—no point talking about the exact medical terms and giving everyone a biology lesson. “Ectopic pregnancy” was enough to shut down further questions.

The outcome would be the same, anyway.

“What? Ectopic pregnancy?” As expected, his mother was crushed. Her excitement vanished in an instant. “How could this happen? She’s so young…”

Adela sighed and fretted, her voice full of regret.

Jamison had no patience for consolation. Once his mother had finished her lament, he hung up.

Ivy was leaning against the headboard, phone in hand, lost in whatever she was doing.

Jamison walked over and glanced at her screen—she was looking up information about ectopic pregnancy.

He let out a weary sigh and gently took her phone, setting it on the nightstand. “Don’t overthink it. The doctors here know a lot more than some anonymous internet forum. Dr. Beckett said it’s not viable, so there’s really no other option.”

A shadow hung over Ivy’s face. She murmured, almost to herself, “Why does misfortune keep coming for me, over and over?”

She didn’t understand. It wasn’t as if she’d done anything terrible to deserve this.

Emma’s death—well, that was Emma’s own doing. It had nothing to do with her.

So why did fate have to punish her like this?

Jamison saw her tears start to fall. He quietly pulled a tissue from the box and gently wiped her cheeks. “Maybe your bad luck’s finally run out. Think about it this way: you fell from the eighth floor and still survived. Maybe it was this baby who protected you, who took on the worst of it so you could live.”

Ivy looked up at him in surprise. Who knew he could be so comforting?

“You can’t honestly wish you’d been the one hurt, right? You’re alive—that’s what matters. There will be other chances, and if you want, you can have as many children as you like. The future’s still open.”

Tears still clung to her lashes, but his words made her laugh. “Do I look like a plo to you? I’m not trying to have kids just to climb some social ladder.”

Seeing her smile, Jamison relaxed a little too. “Alright. Take two days to come to terms with this. We’ll do the procedure then, and after three days of recovery, you can go home.”

At the mention of discharge, Ivy asked, “The bloodwork and other tests from yesterday—everything else okay?”

“Yeah, all negative. Just to be extra sure, you’ll have follow-up tests every month for the next three months.”

Jamison knew the risk of complications was tiny, and he’d made sure she got the best medication available. The clean test results were reassuring—odds were, everything would be fine.

That was genuinely good news. Ivy’s mood lifted, if only a little.

“Okay, get back to work. I’m tired and want to rest,” she said, wanting some time alone—to quietly say goodbye to the little life she was losing.

Jamison seemed to understand. He had work to do anyway, so he nodded and slipped out.

When the door closed behind him, Ivy placed a hand gently on her belly. Last night’s dream replayed in her mind, making her nose sting with new tears.

Usually, her dreams faded by morning, but this one remained vivid: a boy and a girl, twins, beautiful and sweet.

No wonder they’d vanished at the end, no matter how she tried to find them. Their time together hadn’t come yet.

I’m sorry, baby. Mom has to let you go.

But once I’m healthy and ready, I promise—I’ll bring you back to me.