PART ONE – THE IMPOSSIBLE PREGNANCY
I walked into Dr. Patricia Morrison’s office on a gray Tuesday morning in February, expecting nothing more than my annual executive physical. At sixty‑two, I’d built Chen Properties from a single beat‑up duplex in Richmond, just south of Seattle, into one of Seattle’s most respected real‑estate development firms in the Pacific Northwest of the United States.
I’d survived prostate cancer five years earlier, lost my wife Margaret to breast cancer three years after that, and I honestly thought I’d seen enough of doctors and hospitals to last a lifetime. Patricia had been my physician for fifteen years. I trusted her completely.
So when she asked me to sit down with that particular expression on her face—the one doctors wear when they’re about to deliver news you don’t want to hear—my first thought was that the cancer had returned. “Robert, the blood work came back,” she said, sliding a folder across her desk. “Everything looks good overall.
Your cholesterol is down. Blood pressure is excellent for your age. But there’s something we need to discuss.”
I felt my chest tighten.
“Is it back? The cancer?”
“No. Nothing like that.”
She paused, choosing her words carefully.
“Robert, do you remember the complications you had after your surgery in 2020? The additional procedures we had to perform?”
“Of course. It was hell recovering from that.”
“One of the consequences of those complications is that you’re infertile—completely and permanently.
There’s no possibility of you fathering children naturally. It’s been documented in your file for years.”
I nodded slowly, not understanding why she was bringing this up. Margaret and I had already raised our son, Michael.
At my age, more children weren’t even on my radar. “I understand that, Patricia. Michael’s thirty‑four now.
I’m not exactly planning on starting over.”
She leaned forward, her voice dropping. “Robert, you listed Jessica as your emergency contact on the intake form. She’s your wife?”
“Yes.
We got married four months ago. Why?”
Dr. Morrison’s expression shifted to something between concern and alarm.
“Robert, she called yesterday to reschedule today’s appointment. She mentioned she wanted to be here for the results because of her pregnancy. She said she’s fourteen weeks along.”
The words hung in the air between us.
The story doesn’t end here –
it continues on the next page.
TAP → NEXT PAGE → 👇
