Trick Him Into Divorce, Then Flee With His Unknow Kid novel Chapter 2

Chapter 2: Chapter 2 I Want a Divorce

Ryan’s brow was still furrowed, the crease between his eyes yet to smooth out—he’d clearly caught the barb in her tone and was about to press further.

"Who—"

But then the woman in his arms stirred, letting out a wet, hiccupping sob, and tilted her face up toward him, her voice soft and wounded.

"Ryan... it hurts..."

That single, plaintive note yanked his attention back from the computer screen as if she’d physically reeled him in.

He glanced down at her pallid lips, and whatever unfounded suspicion had flickered through his mind a moment ago was swallowed whole by more urgent concern.

"I know. Almost done. I’m right here. You’re not alone."

Rose observed the entire exchange with downcast eyes, refusing to look at him again.

With a deliberate press of her fingers, she swept the documents on her desk to one side and covered them over.

She’d also recognized the woman in his arms, Samantha, the fiancée of Ryan’s cousin Ethan.

Ethan had been serving time for over five months now, and yet here she was, curled against Ryan in a pose far more intimate than any sister-in-law had a right to claim, streaked with blood.

A sight that would invite speculation from anyone with working eyes.

And Rose, his wife of seven years, was only learning of it now.

Pathetic didn’t even begin to cover it.

She straightened her spine, and in the span of a single breath, her features settled back into place. The composed, capable physician snapping into readiness.

She turned toward the sink, cranking the faucet, and tossed an order over her shoulder to the nurse.

"Get her into the treatment room. I’ll handle it."

The nurse acknowledged and moved to wheel the gurney forward, but Samantha’s hand shot out and seized the rail as if burned, her voice climbing an octave in alarm.

"Not her!" She fixed Rose with a stare, all her earlier vulnerability transmuting into raw defensiveness. "I don’t want her touching me!"

The air in the exam room went taut. Everyone froze.

Ryan, for his part, showed no sign of caving, though his tone remained steeped in patience.

"Samantha, all the doctors outside are male. You can’t delay this, you’re still bleeding. Trust me, okay?"

Samantha’s jaw tightened, but she stopped arguing, her fingers white-knuckled around the bedrail as the nurse rolled her through the treatment room doors.

As the nurse pushed her into the treatment room and shut the door, her eyes never left Rose—not for a second.

As if she were guarding against something.

Rose ignored it all.

She raised her hands, walked over, pulled on her gloves, and bent down to examine the wound. Every movement was precise, efficient—flawlessly professional.

The treatment room lights were harsh, that unforgiving white that exposes every flaw and detail, and when Rose’s gaze passed over the torn tissue, she paused.

The nurse leaned in for a look, then let out a knowing little hum, her eyes darting to Rose’s face before drifting meaningfully toward the door where Ryan’s.

"Well, that certainly looks like—" She left the sentence dangling, a suggestive curl to her brow, clearly fishing for Rose to join in the gossip.

Rose didn’t look up.

Her fingers never faltered, but a wave of queasiness rose in her throat, nameless and sickening, and she had to grit her teeth to keep it down.

With sterile-gloved fingers, she gently separated the wound margins, assessing the extent of the laceration.

"Second-degree perineal tear, involving part of the posterior vaginal mucosa. Not arterial. Nothing to worry about. Try to stay calm."

"Blood pressure?" She didn’t bother lifting her head.

"90/60, heart rate 102," the nurse recited.

Rose pressed gauze to the wound to stem the bleeding while continuing her directives.

"Start an IV line, normal saline to begin, and prepare lidocaine. I can do the suturing here—no need to send her to the ER."

"No! "

Rose had assumed it was another emotional outburst and adjusted her tone to something as professionally soothing as she could manage.

"Ma’am, you should trust a doctor’s judgment."

But Samantha caught her wrist, her gaze skittering sideways, her voice dropping to something soft and almost shy. "It’s not that... it’s... I’m pregnant."

"Pregnant?"

The nurse nearly shrieked the word.

Rose’s hands froze mid-air, her knuckles tightening around the syringe she held—a white-knuckled grip that threatened to shatter the glass.

Her eyes slid down to Samantha’s midsection.

As far as she knew, Ethan had been incarcerated for five months, and Samantha’s belly showed no signs of a four- or five-month gestation.

Rose’s gaze lifted back to the woman’s face, where a mixture of coyness and provocation seemed to be waiting, hungry for Rose’s reaction.

The nurse, oblivious, was already spiraling into her own head.

"But having sex so early in pregnancy... that’s incredibly risky..."

At those words, Samantha’s expression grew even more self-satisfied, the last vestiges of her feigned modesty evaporating entirely.

Rose could take no more. She set down her instruments and addressed the nurse in clipped tones.

"Eliminate all NSAIDs from her chart, and switch the broad-spectrum antibiotics to penicillin-class. I’ll finish up in a moment."

With that, she all but fled.

She made for the sink, the water gushing loud enough to drown the frantic rhythm of her own breathing.

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