I eat lunch at my desk just to ensure I’ll make it there on time. At one-thirty, I grab my purse and head for the door. But I swear to God, Denise must have cameras in my office to know when I’m trying to leave, because she heads me off before I can get to the elevator.

“Abigail.” She narrows her ice-blue eyes at me. She’s the only person here who has the ability to make me feel terrible with a single gaze. “Where are you going? You’re not leaving, are you?”

“I’ve got…” I swallow. “I’ve got a doctor’s appointment. I’ll be back soon.”

I’m going to be here till ten o’clock tonight. I just know it.

“Are you ill?” Denise says the words with utter contempt.

“No.” I look away. “It’s just an appointment.”

That’s vague enough. No way can she get an inkling of my arrangement with Monica. In another few weeks, Monica will be resigning, before she starts to show. If Denise found out what we were up to… well, I don’t even want to think about it. It wouldn’t be good.

Thank God, Denise seems to accept this explanation. In any case, she doesn’t physically stop me from leaving. Which is what she’d have to do to keep me from going to this ultrasound.

“By the way,” Denise says. “When you get back, I’d like you to catch up with your correspondence. When Cuddles sends you an email, I expect you to answer within twenty-four hours, if not within the hour.”

“I do.” I glance at a clock on the wall—one-thirty-five.

“They told me several of their emails have gone unanswered.”

What? That can’t be right. I’m obsessive about answering all my emails. Missing one—possible. But several?

I’ll have to check my spam folder when I’m at the doctor’s office.

“I’ll take care of it,” I assure Denise, then I push past her to get to the elevator. I’m not missing anything else because of her. I’m still upset about that dinner I missed last week.

I hail a cab quickly outside the building and make it to the hospital in record time. It’s ten minutes to two, which means I’ve got time to spare.

The waiting area for maternal-fetal medicine is populated with several women in various stages of pregnancy. In the past, seeing a bunch of pregnant women like this would have made me burn with jealousy. I probably would have gone home and sobbed into my pillow, thinking about how unfair it all was. But it’s okay now. I’m part of it.

Monica and Sam are nowhere to be found—I guess I’m the first to arrive. I settled into one of the plastic chairs to wait. A receptionist gives me a funny look. “Can I help you, ma’am?”