by Bella Grant
“I’m really sorry for wasting your time,” I apologized. “I know the chance of a vasectomy failing is next to nil. I’m simply doing this to prove to the woman claiming I’m the father of her child that it is impossible.”
“Actually, Mr. Simpson, it’s quite possible you’re the father of this woman’s baby if you’ve had unprotected sex with her,” the doctor remarked.
My first reaction was that he had to be joking. “That can’t be right,” I announced. “This procedure was to ensure I couldn’t get anyone pregnant.”
“And vasectomies have a high success rate of more than ninety-nine percent,” the doctor attempted to explain, although my mind was already prepared to reject what he had to say and the implications of it. “Usually, there are three reasons a vasectomy might fail—having unprotected sex before three months or twenty to thirty ejaculations to ensure all hanging sperm is completely flushed out. The next is an inexperienced surgeon who has not completed the procedure properly. And the final one is what happened in your case, which is very rare. Recanalization failure.”
“And that means what?” I asked in a daze from all the information. Why the hell had no one explained this to me when I had done the procedure?
“The blocked sperm tubes have reconnected on both sides,” I was told by the doctor. “The semen analysis test we just performed shows a sperm count that is marginally below average. This means there is a lower chance of pregnancy, but the likelihood is still there if you’ve had unprotected sex, so you might have fathered this child you speak of. Unless you have another reason to believe this child isn’t yours other than the vasectomy, and in that case, I’d suggest doing a paternity test. You can have this woman undergo a prenatal DNA paternity test. It is non-invasive and...”
The doctor’s words trailed off as I thought in horror of the way I had lashed out at Laurel and accused her of being unfaithful and foisting another man’s child on me. My heart clenched remembering the tears she had cried as she pleaded for me to believe her. I’d been so sure of the vasectomy that I’d chosen not to believe her.
Oh, God, what had I done?
I jumped to my feet so suddenly I startled the doctor. I had to find Laurel and let her know how sorry I was. The vasectomy was the only reason I had for thinking the worst of her, but that had failed and there was no reason not to believe her. We had unprotected sex on our honeymoon and the baby could have been—no, had been conceived on that night. I had some crow I would have to eat, but I would be the best damn crow eater. She hadn’t lied to me!
“Thanks, Dr. King,” I told him. “You’ve answered my question and I’m grateful for the speed with which you were able to conduct this.”
“Are you going to need that paternity test?” the doctor enquired.
“No, I know the answer to that.”
On the way home, I called myself every foul name I could think of. I’d let the best thing that happened to me and the girls go, but how was I supposed to know my vasectomy had failed? This happened so rarely, nobody had bothered to inform me of the possibility. She had begged me to listen and I’d refused to. Would she even forgive me? I would make her forgive me. We deserved to be a family.
Good God, a baby. The thought penetrated that I would be the father of another child. I’d never entertained the idea of a third child, but if there was a woman to have another child with, it was Laurel. I’d have the opportunity to do all the things I never did with the twins.
I had no idea where she had gone since we hadn’t spoken since the day she left. Henry did report that she called to speak with the girls every day. I was pleased she did so, even though she didn’t have to. It spoke of how much she really cared for Anabelle and Isabelle. She was genuine, a woman of kindness with love to give, willing to take on a man like me with little hopes and dreams, and two little girls whom everyone else would have given up on.
I dared not think about her rejecting me for the way I had treated her. I would open up to her, let her know how much I loved her. Now I wished I had spoken to her before going to the doctor and told her I would accept her and the baby. Then she would know that I loved her for who she was and not because she was having my baby.
Reaching for my phone that I had thrown onto the passenger seat, I dialed Laurel’s number. It rang the maximum number of times before going to voicemail. I rang her another four times before I left her a voicemail.
“Laurel, honey, I need to talk to you,” I said, not hiding the desperation from my voice. I wasn’t about to hide my feelings from her anymore. “I know you’re telling the truth and I am so, so sorry. I’d do anything to take back the things I said to you. Just please, please answer the phone or call me back as soon as you get this message. Where are you staying? I’ll come by so we can talk.” I paused a little before adding. “I love you, Laurel.”
I hung up, cursing that I’d missed her and fretting that she wouldn’t return my call. If she didn’t, what would I do? I would comb the area and hire the best private detectives. I’d find her if it was the last thing I did and apologize to her. I wouldn’t stop until she was back where she belonged. With her family. The girls and me.
We had been through so much. We were all damaged in some way. I’d lost my family in college. The girls had lost their mother and Laurel had lost her mother. We deserved each other and to have our share of happiness now. We might have had a misunderstanding, but I wouldn’t let it come between us, even though it was huge. She would be my wife again and she would be my wife for life. Anabelle and Isabelle would have a new brother or sister.
I felt stifled at the thought of us not being together as a family. Impatiently, I reached across the seat for the phone again to try calling her but didn’t find it. Damn! It had slid closer to the door and was stuck in the corner. Holding the steering wheel awkwardly, I checked the street was clear before making a dive for the phone. I snagged it and straightened.
I didn’t have time to register horror at the sight of the truck that had lost control and careened across the street in front of my vehicle. I jerked the wheel to avoid the collision, knowing it was helpless. I had reacted too late because I had reached for my phone.
The loud explosion that sounded deafened me as the steering wheel was yanked out of my hands from the impact of the collision. I braced myself as the SUV lost control and overturned, hurtling me, trapped by the seatbelt almost strangling me, into the nothingness. I panicked, trying to claw myself from the darkness that threatened to claim me. My daughters needed me. They’d lost so much already. Laurel needed me. And I wasn’t ready to lose being a part of their lives. I needed the chance to tell them how much I loved them.
The searing pain that ran up my ribcage and through my skull was enough for me to seek the bliss of darkness where nothing existed. Just me floating. Weightless.
Chapter 31
Laurel
“I love you, Laurel.”
The words replayed in my mind. Over and over it went like a record I would never get tired of hearing. The rest of the message had been irrelevant, although I’d vaguely registered that he’d been making a form of apology for the way we’d argued and which had led to me leaving him. Once he said he loved me, I knew it was enough. Everything would be all right.
“Come on!” I growled at the backed-up traffic, wondering why there was so much when it wasn’t even five yet. I honked my horn to no avail. I wasn’t going anywhere until whatever was up ahead was out of the way.
The traffic moved at a snail’s pace, keeping me trapped for almost half an hour. As I advanced, I realized there had been a crash and it looked pretty nasty. A black SUV was badly crushed and overturned on its side. A few feet away from it was a moving truck. Police were standing to the side, directing traffic and speaking to a man who had a gash on his forehead. He was sitting and being attended to by a paramedic.
I felt immediately guilty for the way I had been speeding to get to the estate. I glanced back at the black SUV again and frowned as it b
egan to look familiar. Jarrod drove a vehicle like that one. My heart skipped a beat, but I told myself it couldn’t be until I checked the license plate and the bumper sticker. Proud father of twins. I’d seen that sticker and thought it would be fun for him and he’d put it on his car.
Oh no! I screamed silently as I checked the license plate, which I didn’t know fully, but the numbers looked similar to the ones on Jarrod’s car. I whispered a quick prayer that whoever the driver of the vehicle was, it wasn’t Jarrod. Please let this be the day his driver escorted him around.
I parked my Chevy off to the side and alighted the vehicle, slamming the door as I approached the crash site.
“Excuse me, ma’am, you’re not allowed here,” a police officer obstructed my path. “Please get into your car and continue on your way.”
“You don’t understand,” I said, staring over his shoulder at the SUV, my legs feeling weak. The car was just like Jarrod’s. “I think that’s my husband’s car.”
“What’s his name?” the officer asked. “We found a wallet which we’ve been able to identify the injured man with.”
“Injured?” I croaked. “How badly is he hurt? Is he okay? Where is he? Can I see him?”
“Hold on a sec, lady. You’re getting ahead of yourself here. What’s your husband’s name?”
“Jarrod. Jarrod Simpson.”
He nodded grimly at me. “Yes, that’s the name we found on his ID.”
“Is he okay?” I asked again, trying to avoid panicking. “I don’t see him anywhere. Where is he?”
“He was taken to St. Paul’s hospital,” the officer responded. “He was unconscious when they took him.”
“Oh, my God, what happened?” I cried, wringing my hands together.
“According to eyewitness’ report, the driver of the moving van lost control of the vehicle,” he explained. “It rammed into your husband’s SUV.”
“Oh, God, I need to get to the hospital!” I announced in full-blown panic. I refused to think of losing him after we’d been through so much. No, no. He had to be okay. Another glance at the car and I couldn’t help thinking the worst. The SUV looked in a bad way.
“Well, ma’am, the state you’re in, I don’t think you should be driving,” the officer stated. “The last thing we need is another accident on the streets. If you’re patient, let me talk to my partner and I’ll drive you over to the hospital.”
“Okay, thank you,” I told him.
While he talked to his partner, I was tempted to jump into my car and go but he was right. I was shaking, my whole body trembling, and I had to take deep breaths to work at controlling my emotions.
Oh no—the twins. Should anything happen to Jarrod, they will be devastated.
The policeman returned and didn’t mind taking my car. His partner would pick him up at the hospital as he would stick around to see the extent of Jarrod’s injuries and if he was awake to give a statement. I didn’t give a flip about a statement. All I wanted was for him to be okay.
He was not. I broke down in tears after sitting in the waiting room of the hospital for almost an hour without a word about him. I rang the estate to inform Henry what had happened and ask Mrs. Philpott to remain with the girls until I could make it home. How was I even going to break this news to his children? They’d already lost a mother. They could not lose a father too.
A doctor walked up to me and introduced himself as Dr. Reid. He explained the extent of Jarrod’s injuries. He was unconscious and had several cracked ribs as well as a punctured lung. One of his legs was broken and he had suffered some internal bleeding. He was in serious but stable condition. They were watching for any signs of head injury, including but not limited to a swelling of the brain.
I was allowed only fifteen minutes to sit with him. I cried seeing him deathly still, his leg wrapped in a cast, his head bandaged, and hooked up to machines. He had bruises on his face and a gauze on his cheek. I sat with him for the little time they allotted me, held his hand, and kissed the back of it.
“I shouldn’t have left you that night,” I told him. “I gave up too easily. I should have stayed and made you listen to me. It was so easy for me to prove you were the father of this baby. A paternity test would have done that, but deep down, I was bruised because you never told me you loved me too.”
When a nurse stopped by to let me know my fifteen minutes were up, I cried some more because I didn’t want to leave him. I didn’t want to leave the hospital at all, but the twins needed to be told what had happened. Could they handle this news? I couldn’t keep it from them. They deserved to know.
The drive from the hospital to the estate weighed heavy on my heart.
“How is he doing, Mrs. Simpson?” Henry asked as soon as I walked inside the house.
“He’s in stable condition but hasn’t regained consciousness,” I responded then added. “Yet. Has anyone told the children?”
“No, we haven’t said a word, but they suspect something is wrong. Mrs. Philpott can’t help weeping.”
“I’ll explain it to them.”
I was in the foyer when the kids ran to me. They pressed their bodies to my sides, their hands clutching tightly at my limbs.
“Laurel, something’s wrong with Daddy!” Anabelle cried, tears rolling down her face.
“Yes, we heard Mrs. Philpott talking on the phone,” Isabelle added, her face white. “She said Daddy was in an accident. Is it true, Laurel?”
“Oh, sweetie.” I sat on the bottom stair and pulled them to sit beside me, an arm around each one. “Yes, your daddy was in an accident and he’s in the hospital. I was there and I saw him.”
“When is he coming home?” Anabelle wanted to know.
“I’m not sure, honey.” I swallowed the lump in my throat and blinked back the tears. Now wasn’t the time for me to tear up. I had to be strong for the girls. Jarrod would count on me for that, and I wouldn’t let him down.
“Can we go see him?” Isabelle enquired on a hiccup. She was sniffling and wiping her eyes with her sleeves.
“I’ll take you tomorrow since it’s already evening,” I replied, tousling her hair.
“Laurel, is he going to die like Mommy?” Anabelle asked so quietly I almost didn’t hear her.
“No!” I denied, pulling her against me tighter. “Your daddy is a fighter. He is going to get better and he has a cast on his leg that you can practice your art on.”
That prompted a giggle from Isabelle before she sobered. “Will you stay here with us again when Daddy gets better?”
“We don’t want you to go,” her twin added. “We love you. You make us happy, and you make Daddy happy too. He’s been sad while you were away.”
“So was I, baby,” I assured them. “I promise, I won’t leave you again. Never.”
That night, I wasn’t surprised when I lay in bed alone, crying silently, that the kids entered the room and climbed into bed with me. I was comforted by their presence and fell asleep with the two little bodies pressed against me.
The next morning, I was up early. I made sure the girls had their breakfast, although they were impatient to go to the hospital. We showered and dressed while I tried to prepare them for what they would see at the hospital. We were in a somber mood and silent all the way to the hospital where the driver dropped us off. My nerves were running all over the place as I wondered if Jarrod’s condition had changed at all overnight. I also hoped I wasn’t making a big mistake by letting his daughters see him in this condition.
“Good morning,” I greeted the nurse at the front desk. “Can you tell me if I’m able to visit my husband, Jarrod Simpson?”
“Just give me a minute to check with the doctor,” she responded and placed a call through to Dr. Reid, who had been looking after Jarrod yesterday. I tried not to let my impatience show while listening to her half of the conversation, which did nothing to soothe me.
After a short chat, she hung up the phone and turned to me with a smile. “Mr. Simpson was respon
sive during the night and has regained consciousness,” she explained to me. “He’s still a bit sedated because of the injuries he sustained so he can cope with the pain, but you should be able to sit with him and speak with him.”
“Oh, thank God!” I cried with relief. “Is it okay for his daughters to see him?”
“Sure. No problem at all.”
Anabelle and Isabelle were nervous about being at the hospital but were eager to see Jarrod, as eager as I was. I thought he was sleeping when I pushed the door open and the girls entered ahead of me, but his head turned slightly in our direction.
“Be careful, girls,” I cautioned them. “Daddy is in a lot of pain right now, so don’t scramble on him.”
They nodded their understanding as we approached the bed. Jarrod smiled at us, and although he looked gruesome, his face still bruised and swollen, I thought he’d never looked better than at that moment. Alive.
“Hey, there are my three favorite girls,” he said, speaking slowly, his words sluggish, which must have been an effect of the painkillers he was on.
“Daddy, you’re hurt,” Isabelle announced staring at the cast on his foot.
“Yes, pumpkin, but not for long,” he responded. “Now, how about you come give me a hug?”
“Jarrod, are you sure they won’t hurt you?” I asked fretfully as he turned a little so he could put an arm around the girls.
“Who cares?” he said with a grin, and when the girls stepped back, he beckoned to me. “You too. Come here.”
I approached him and gave him the hug he wanted, relief that he was going to be okay making tears trickle from my eyes.
“I’m so sorry,” he whispered in my ear. “I should have believed you. I was wrong, Laurel, so wrong. I want the chance to marry you again, the right way.”
“Oh, Jarrod,” I kissed his lips lightly. “I was so worried about you. I should never have left you, even if you didn’t believe me about the baby.”