“Caroline, how many pregnancies have you had?”
I stared at her.
“I don’t know.”
She looked surprised.
“I thought you were told you were infertile.”
“That was what Luke told me.”
“Did you ever receive medical confirmation?”
“No.”
“From a doctor?”
“Luke always took me.”
The doctor slowly closed the folder.
“Did you ever see the actual test results?”
“No.”
She exchanged a glance with the nurse.
Then she opened another file.
“These records were transferred from three different clinics.”
My heart began pounding.
“What records?”
“Pregnancy-related visits.”
I stared at her.
“There are multiple.”
My mouth went dry.
“How many?”
The doctor hesitated.
“Five documented pregnancies.”
I couldn’t breathe.
“No.”
She turned the papers toward me.
The dates were listed one after another.
I recognized them.
Every one.
The months when I had suddenly become sick.
The nights Luke had insisted I had suffered another miscarriage.
The mornings when he told me not to ask questions.
