The air in the private wing of St. Jude’s Recovery Center tasted like bleach and cold metal.

I could not move my eyelids.

They felt glued shut, heavy as wet clay.

A rhythmic beep sounded to my left, dull and mechanical.

The smell of rubbing alcohol stung my nostrils.

“Make sure the pathology report matches,” a voice said.

It was Jared.

His voice had the smooth, commanding cadence he used during board meetings at Harlan Media.

“We cannot have any discrepancies, Doctor,” Jared said.

“The surgical notes must state the tissue was highly atypical.”

Another voice, deeper and hesitant, replied.

“Mr. Harlan, a total hysterectomy without prior biopsy is highly irregular.”

“It was an emergency,” Jared said, his tone sharpening.

“My wife was hemorrhaging at home.”

“I signed the emergency consent form as her medical proxy.”

“The fibroids were threatening her life.”

I tried to gasp, but my throat was a desert.

My tongue felt thick and swollen.

My fingers twitched against the stiff white sheet.

“And the ovaries?” the doctor asked.

“Gone,” Jared said.

“Everything.”

“We need to be absolutely certain she cannot carry a child.”

The words pierced through the chemical fog in my brain.

My hand crept down my thigh, trembling.

I felt the thick bandage taped tightly across my lower abdomen.

A sharp, tearing pain flared when I nudged it.

They had cut me open while I was asleep.

They had taken my future.

“She is waking up,” the doctor whispered.

Footsteps hurried toward the door.

The heavy oak door clicked shut, leaving only one set of footsteps approaching my bed.

I forced my eyes open.

The fluorescent lights burned my retinas.

Jared stood over me, his tailored grey suit immaculate, his silk tie perfectly straight.

He looked like the grieving, worried husband he had practiced being for years.

“Shelby, thank God,” he said.

He took my hand.

His palm was dry and cold.

“What happened?” I croaked.

My voice sounded like dry leaves scraping on concrete.

“There was a crisis, darling,” Jared said, squeezing my fingers.

“You collapsed in the kitchen.”

“The doctors found massive, aggressive tumors.”

“They had to operate immediately to save your life.”