The MC President's Forsaken Wife (Zara and Knox) novel Chapter 368

+25 Points

The dry, clinical warmth of the medical center waiting room is a far cry from the snow–dusted pine trees and roaring hearth back at Evelyn’s coastal cottage.

We’ve been back home for two days now, but in some ways, it feels like months.

Our flight back was a smooth, comforting blur: a few quiet hours above the clouds where I rested my head against Locke’s broad shoulder, watching the winter landscape pass below while feeling the steady, grounding warmth of his arm wrapped around me.

Now, sitting on a pale–yellow sofa under bright lights, the realities of our life back home are fast catching up. But for the first time in a year, walking into a medical facility doesn’t send a cold, sick knot of dread twisting into my gut.

Today feels entirely different.

Beside me, Locke sits with his knees spread wide, his massive frame practically swallowing the small armchair. He’s dressed in his black work boots, heavy denim, and a dark leather jacket over his MC cut, looking wildly out of place among the soft pastel walls, quiet potted ferns, and framed prints of chubby babies.

He hasn’t said much since we signed in at the front desk, but his hand has stayed locked around mine. Every time a nurse in scrubs walks past with a clipboard, his sharp eyes follow them with quiet vigilance, a silent shadow guarding his territory and ensuring nothing touches me without his say–so.

“Zara Callahan?”

An upbeat voice breaks through the soft ambient hum of the waiting room.

A young woman in dark blue scrubs and a crisp white lab coat steps out from the inner hallway, holding a tablet tucked under her arm. She looks to be in her mid–thirties, with bright, intelligent green eyes, her dark hair pulled back into a neat braid.

I stand up, smoothing down the hem of my oversized knit sweater. “That’s me. And this is

Locke Tanner.”

Locke is on his feet an instant later, towering beside me like a mountain, his presence immediately shifting the energy in the room.

The woman offers a warm, radiant smile that immediately eases the faint tension lingering in my shoulders. “Hi, I’m Dr. Catherine Innis. Come on back.”

She leads us down a quiet, carpeted hallway lined with sleek glass–doored offices and

Once I’m seated, he settles into the adjacent chair, resting his large forearm on the armrest, his presence heavy, solid, and utterly steadfast.

Dr. Innis takes her seat behind the desk, tapping her tablet for a quick moment before resting her hands comfortably on the surface. She looks across at me, her smile genuine and full of easy warmth.

“It’s so wonderful to finally meet you in person, Zara,” Dr. Innis says. “Dr. Mercer forwarded your complete chart over from oncology last week, along with your latest bloodwork panels. I’ve spent the morning reviewing everything. I have to say, your body has done an incredible job recovering. You’re an absolute powerhouse.”

A soft, relieved breath escapes my lips, my hand instinctively coming up to rest over the

silver cuff on my left wrist.

“Thank you. It… feels a little surreal sitting in an OB–GYN office after everything. For a long time, I wasn’t even sure if this kind of appointment would ever be in the cards for me.”

“I completely understand,” Dr. Innis replies. “Post–cancer pregnancy is a specialized journey, and it’s completely normal to carry some emotional residue from your treatment days.”