Please Come Back, My Love novel Chapter 102

Chapter 102

Julian: POV

A week had crawled by since Dr. Morgan dropped that bomb about the AFP levels. Today was the day-I was taking Elena for the amniocentesis.

I’d spent those seven nights scouring medical journals at three in the morning, calling in every favor I had with specialists, my mind stuck in an endless loop of numbers: one-in-fifteen chance of chromosomal abnormality, ninety-three percent accuracy, point-five percent risk of miscarriage. Every statistic felt like a knife to the gut.

Elena sat beside me in the Bentley, hands folded in her lap, that damned silver bracelet from Parsons catching the merning light. She’d been quiet all morning-too quiet.

“You okay?” I asked, though I already knew the answer.

She hesitated, then turned to me, amber eyes shadowed with exhaustion. “Julian, I need to tell you something.”

My grip tightened on the steering wheel. “What is it?”

She swallowed. “All week, I can’t shake this feeling-like someone’s following me,” she whispered, her voice barely above a tremor. “Everywhere I go. The café, the store. Always the same guy. Dark hoodie, sunglasses, just… lurking.”

A cold, primal fear shot through me. “Why the hell didn’t you tell me sooner?”

“I wasn’t sure!” She twisted her hands together. “I thought maybe I was just being paranoid. Pregnancy hormones, you know? But it keeps happening-

‘Elena. I pulled over, ignoring the honking behind us. “Someone following you is not paranoia. Next time, you tell me right away.”

Her voice cracked. “That’s why I’m telling you now. And thank you. For the bodyguard. Adrian told me yesterday you’d assigned someone to keep an eye on me.”

“You figured that out?” I reached over, cupping her face. “I should have told you. I just… I didn’t want to scare you.”

She leaned into my palm, and that simple gesture made my chest ache. I’m already scared. Of everything. The baby, the test today, that creepy guy

“Hey.’ I kissed her forehead, slow and soft. “That’s why the bodyguard’s there. I trust your instincts, which is why I took precautions. But you don’t have to carry this alone. Let me worry about whoever’s out there; you just focus on you and the baby, okay?”

“You think so?”

No. I thought someone really was following her, and I was going to find out who and end them. But I couldn’t tell her that.

“I think you’re stressed,” I said, forcing a smile. “Which is normal. We’re about to stick a needle in your belly to test our baby. Anyone would be on edge.

She nodded, slow and shaky.

The waiting room at NewYork-Presbyterian smelled like antiseptic and fear. Elena sat beside me, bouncing her knee, her hand going to her stomach every few seconds.

Mrs. Eching? A nurse appeared. “We’re ready for you.”

The procedure room was freezing-sterile white walls, the mechanical beep of monitors, a padded table in the center that looked more like an altar than a place to heal. I hated how small Eler looked in that moment, how helpless I was to do anything but hold her hand.

Dr. Morgan was already gloved up, that practiced smile on her face. “Good morning. How are we feeling?”

“Terrified, Elena said flatly.

I took her hand. Squeezed. “We’re fine.”

The ultrasound gel was cold and clear on her stomach. That small swell-barely visible under her loose sweater-seemed more pronounced now. More real.

The screen flickered to life. Gray shapes resolved into our baby. Bigger now. I could see the spine, tiny fingers, the chambers of the heart beating steadily.

*Beautiful,” Dr. Morgan murmured. “Perfect position. This should be very straightforward.”

She didn’t open her eyes, just spoke into the quiet, voice raw. “Julian… what do we do if something’s wrong?”

I gripped the wheel so hard my knuckles ached. “We deal with it,” I said, but the words felt empty, like a promise I wasn’t sure I could keep.

“How?”

The question hung between us, heavy and suffocating.

I could feel her watching me. Waiting. Needing something-anything-to hold on to.

But all I could think about was Dr. Morgan’s voice: One in fifteen chance of Down syndrome or other chromosomal abnormalities. Varying degrees of severity.

Lifelong care requirements.

Part of me wanted to leave it alone. Wait for the results before crossing that bridge. But another part–the part that had spent a week reading about special needs care, lifelong medical expenses, the strain on marriages-needed to know where she stood. Needed to know if she’d really thought about what “dealing with it might mean.

I hated myself for even thinking it, but I had to know.

I pulled over along Central Park. The trees were bare now, skeletal against the gray November sky. I stared straight ahead.

“If the results… if they say there’s something seriously wrong. My throat felt tight. “Would you would you even consider…” I trailed off, hating myself. “Maybe it’d be kinder to… to try again. When we’re prepared. When we can actually give a child everything they need.”

Silence. Long and cold.

“You’re asking me to end it.” Her voice was flat. Hollow.

I swallowed. “I’m asking if we should even talk about our options-”