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She turned away and began typing something into the computer. After putting her glasses on, she read over the screen.
“Honey, Frank Bank’s healthcare and future treatments have already been paid for in full.”
My jaw dropped, and I was sure I had heard her wrong.
“Excuse me?”
“Yes. It says here all bills have been paid, and all future treatment is covered until further notice.” She smiled. “Looks like your dad is all set.”
I left her office feeling a bit lighter.
Wyatt James.
He had read the paperwork, saw the problem, and fixed it.
He was my hero, yet I was deceiving him in the worst possible way. Now that he had paid for all of Dad’s doctor bills, there was no way I could tell him the truth. It was better to let it go and be happy with what I had. Hopefully, that would be a healthy father.
From that point on, things got a bit easier for us. I kept myself as busy as I could. If I was going nonstop, I didn’t have a minute to think about him and how much I missed everything we had.
Allison remained in Paris, not even taking the time to call and check on Dad. It was getting to the point that I was starting to despise her. What kind of daughter ran away to another country at such a crucial time in her father’s life and didn’t even have the decency to call and check on him?
It was whatever.
Dad was feeling better.
Mom was starting to smile more.
And me? I was starting to feel like I could breathe again.
Three weeks later, that changed when I woke feeling off. My stomach was turning, and my head was pounding. I was sure I was dying. When I didn’t think I could hold it in any longer, I flew out of bed, ran to the bathroom, and emptied my stomach. Even with nothing left in me, I heaved.
After three mornings of that, I was starting to feel dizzy and knew it was time I went to the doctor. I drove myself without worrying my parents, and when I got there, I had to wait thirty minutes. By the time they called my name, I wasn’t sure I could stand.
The nurse directed me to urinate in a cup before I was put in a room. She came in a few minutes later and took my vitals, and once again, I was in the room alone.
After another ten minutes, the door finally opened, and the doctor came inside.
“Hello, Ms. Banks, what seems to the problem?”
His head was down as he asked this question, and I could hear the scratching of his pen from where I sat.
“I’m sick. There’s constant nausea and throwing up. I can’t keep any food down. I’m tired. I think maybe it’s some kind of stomach flu.”
He looked up from his paper with a grin. “I’d say those are normal symptoms for a woman with your condition.”
Confusion swept through me. “And what condition are you referring to?”
“You’re pregnant, Ms. Banks.”
