Betrayed by the Father Reborn in His Rival's Arms novel Chapter 407

"Your hormone levels are all within the normal range," Dr. Bennett said.

"The ratio of luteinizing hormone to follicle-stimulating hormone is excellent. There are no signs of PCOS. The husband's results are equally pristine. At your age, technically speaking, you should be at your absolute peak for conception. How long have you been intimate?"

"Less than a month," Quentin replied, sitting there with an unchanging expression.

"By the way, Dr. Bennett, what about last year's medical exam numbers—" Quentin asked.

Dr. Bennett waved a hand dismissively. "The human endocrine system is dynamic and influenced by many factors. Late nights, stress, medication, diet, or even emotional swings can cause certain indicators to fluctuate temporarily.

I reviewed Mrs. Prescott's previous report. Those numbers didn't look like an organic issue; it was more likely caused by exogenous hormonal interference.

For instance, certain birth control pills. If tested shortly after stopping them, similar results might appear."

As he said that last sentence, his gaze flicked over his glasses and landed briefly on Madeline's face.

There was no suspicion or prodding in that look, only the knowing calm of an experienced doctor who had seen it all.

Madeline lowered her eyes and stayed silent.

Dr. Bennett didn't press the matter, simply pushing the reports forward. "You two shouldn't stress yourselves out over this. You're young, and both of your bodies are perfectly healthy. What's the rush?

Relax your minds. What's meant to come will come naturally.

I've seen too many young couples who panic, and the more anxious they get, the harder it is to conceive. Once they toss the stress out the window, take a vacation, and come back—boom, they're pregnant."

He offered a small smile and picked up his thermos for another sip. "Head home. You don't need any medication, and there's no need for a follow-up. If you're still worried, come back for another look in two months, but I highly doubt you'll need to."

Leaving the consultation room, Quentin didn't say a word the entire way down the hall.

His pace wasn't fast, but every step was heavy. His leather shoes thudded against the hospital's vinyl flooring with a muffled, rhythmic rhythm.

Madeline walked half a step behind him, her mind a turbulent storm.

The six hormone metrics were all normal.