The Ring He Gave Her Chapter 09

The Ring He Gave Her Chapter 09

Three weeks after Nathan’s arrest, I sat in the office of Dr. Amara Osei, one of the country’s leading reproductive

endocrinologists.

She had reviewed all my original medical records-the real ones, recovered by Mount Sinai’s internal investigation after

Nathan’s files were flagged and quarantined.

“Sadie,” she said, removing her glasses and looking at me with warm, steady eyes, “I want to be very clear about what I’m going

to tell you.”

I gripped the armrest. Emma was with Dad downstairs in the lobby, building a tower out of waiting room magazines.

“Your chromosomes are completely normal. There has never been any genetic abnormality. The reports your husband provided to your previous OB-GYN were fabricated-sophisticated fabrications, but fabrications nonetheless.”

I exhaled. I already knew this, but hearing it from an independent specialist made it real in a way that Nathan’s arrest hadn’t.

“And the miscarriages?” I asked.

Dr. Osei’s expression tightened. “Based on the toxicology analysis of the modified supplements-which the FBI lab has now fully characterized-the compound your husband substituted was a synthetic prostaglandin analog. In the doses you were receiving, it would have induced uterine contractions consistent with early pregnancy loss.”

She paused, choosing her next words carefully.

“Sadie, your miscarriages were chemically induced. Your body did not fail you. You were poisoned.”

The word landed like a physical blow. I’d known it intellectually, but hearing a doctor say it-in clinical, irrefutable terms-was

different.

“Can I still have children?”

This was the question that had kept me awake every night since the restaurant. The question I was terrified to ask. The question that held my entire future hostage.

Dr. Osei smiled-genuinely, warmly.

“There is no medical reason you cannot carry a healthy pregnancy to term. Your uterine lining has fully recovered. Your hormone levels are normal. Your egg reserve is excellent for your age.”

She leaned forward.

“Sadie, you are not broken. You never were.”

I sat in that chair and cried for ten minutes straight. Dr. Osei handed me tissues and waited patiently, as if she’d seen this exact scene play out before-a woman learning that the thing she’d mourned wasn’t actually lost.

When I finally composed myself, she outlined a recovery plan nutritional rehabilitation, stress management, and monitoring

She recommended waiting six months before attempting conception, to let my body fully clear any residual effects.

“But when you’re ready,” she said, “I see no reason to expect anything other than a healthy pregnancy

I floated out of that office. There’s no other word for it. My feet touched the ground, but gravity had loosened its grip.

In the lobby, Emma looked up from her magazine tower and grinned. “Mommy, you look happy!”

I scooped her up and spun her around. “I am happy, baby. I’m so, so happy.”

Dad watched us from across the lobby, and for the first time in weeks, he smiled.

That evening, Ryan called with an update.

“Nathan’s lawyer tried to negotiate a plea deal. The DA rejected it. They’re going for the maximum on every charge.”

“How many charges?”

“As of today? Fourteen. Forgery, medical fraud, assault, HIPAA violations, evidence tampering, domestic abuse, conspiracy-the list keeps growing. The pharmacist’s testimony alone is enough for conviction, but the USB drive…” Ryan let out a low whistle. “The blackmail recordings implicate at least six hospital administrators in a kickback scheme. The FBI is opening a separate

investigation.”

“So Nathan wasn’t just hurting me.”

“He was running a one-man criminal enterprise behind the white coat. The DA is calling it one of the most egregious cases of medical abuse in New York history.”

I processed this quietly.

“And Lily?” I asked.

Ryan’s tone softened. “She’s cooperating fully. Gave a deposition yesterday. She’s… she’s in rough shape, Sadie. She genuinely didn’t know about any of it. She thought she was falling in love with a lonely, divorced man.”

“I know.”

“She asked about you. Wanted to know if you were okay.”

I thought about Lily-brilliant, ambitious, naive Lily-who had been manipulated just as thoroughly as I had. Nathan had isolated her from her family, made her dependent on him, and was planning to sabotage her body the same way he’d sabotaged mine.

“Tell her I’m okay,” I said. “And tell her… tell her I don’t blame her.”

A pause. “You’re a better person than I am, Sadie.”

“No. I’m just tired of letting Nathan decide who I hate.”

The trial date was set for three months out. In the meantime, I had work to do.

I’d spent eight years being Nathan Cross’s silent engine-writing his papers, building his protocols, managing his career from the shadows. Now it was time to step into my own light.

I called my old academic advisor at Columbia, Dr. Helen Park, who had once told me I was the most talented biostatistician she’d ever mentored. She’d been devastated when I’d dropped out of my PhD program to support Nathan’s career.

“Helen, it’s Sadie Walker.”

A beat of stunned silence. Then: “Sadie? My God, I’ve been following the news. Are you alright?”

“I’m getting there. And I want to come back. I want to finish my doctorate.”

Another silence-this one thick with emotion.

“I’ve been saving your desk,” she said quietly. “For eight years, Sadie. I always knew you’d call.”