It was morning. The day of the retrieval.
The sky outside the clinic was pale and overcast, the kind of light that made everything feel muted. Elena stepped out of the car slowly, dressed in a loose hoodie and leggings, her hair tied back, her face bare. She looked calm, but inside, her nerves were humming.
Brittany walked beside her, clipboard in hand, her tone gentle but efficient.
"They'll sedate you lightly," she said. "It's a short procedure. You'll be groggy afterward, but not in pain."
Elena nodded, barely speaking.
Inside, the clinic was quieter than usual. The receptionist gave her a soft smile and gestured toward the private wing.
Dr. Leoni was waiting.
"Elena," she said warmly. "Today's the day."
Elena managed a small smile. "I'm ready."
The doctor led her into the prep room, where a nurse handed her a gown and guided her through the steps. Elena changed slowly, folding her clothes neatly, her hands trembling just slightly.
She lay back on the padded table, the IV already in place.
Dr. Leoni stood beside her, checking the monitor, reviewing her charts.
"Your follicles responded beautifully," she said. "We're retrieving twenty-three. That's a strong number."
Elena blinked. "Is that… good?"
"It's excellent," the doctor said. "You've done everything right."
The nurse adjusted the drip.
Elena's eyes began to blur at the edges.
She felt light.
She felt strange.
She felt… proud.
As the sedation pulled her under, she heard Dr. Leoni's voice one last time.
"Just breathe. We've got you."
And then everything went quiet.
Elena was already sedated when the procedure began.
She lay still under soft lighting, her body relaxed, her mind drifting somewhere between sleep and awareness. Dr. Leoni and her team moved with quiet precision.
A transvaginal ultrasound probe was gently inserted, guiding the doctor to each ovary.
Using a thin needle, Dr. Leoni pierced the follicle walls one by one, aspirating the fluid inside.
Each follicle held the possibility of an egg—tiny, invisible promises.
The fluid was passed to the embryologist, who searched for the eggs under a microscope.
Twenty-three follicles. Nineteen eggs retrieved.
The room was calm, clinical, focused.
No drama. Just science and care.
Though sedated, Elena's body registered the shifts—pressure, movement, the strange sensation of being touched but not feeling pain. Her mind floated through fragments of memory: Luca's hand on her back, the sound of her mother's voice, the sterile scent of the clinic.
She wasn't awake, but she wasn't entirely gone either.
Somewhere inside, she was whispering to herself: "Let this be enough."
The eggs were placed in culture dishes, ready for fertilization.
Elena was wheeled into recovery, her body sore but intact, her heart suspended in quiet hope.
Dr. Leoni removed her gloves, glanced at the chart, and smiled.
"Nineteen," she said to the nurse. "She did beautifully."
It was late morning.
The recovery room was dim and quiet, the walls painted in soft neutrals, the air cool and still. Elena lay on a padded recliner, a warm blanket pulled over her legs, her head resting against a small pillow.
She stirred slowly.
Her eyelids fluttered open, heavy with sedation. The ceiling above her was blurred, the lights soft and distant.
Her body ached—not sharply, but deeply. A dull pressure in her lower abdomen reminded her of what had just happened.
She blinked, trying to focus.
Brittany was seated nearby, scrolling through her tablet, her posture relaxed but alert. When she noticed Elena stirring, she stood and stepped closer.
"You're awake," she said gently.
Elena nodded, her throat dry. "It's done?"
Brittany smiled. "It's done. Nineteen eggs retrieved. Dr. Leoni was very pleased."
Elena exhaled slowly, her chest rising and falling beneath the blanket.
"Nineteen," she whispered. "That's… good?"
"It's excellent," Brittany said. "You did everything right."
Elena closed her eyes again, letting the words settle.
She didn't feel triumphant.
She felt… hollow. Not in a bad way. Just emptied. Like something had been taken from her, and now she was waiting to refill.
Her hand drifted to her stomach, pressing lightly.
It was over.
The first part, at least.
Brittany poured a glass of water and placed it beside her. "You'll rest here for another hour. Then we'll take you home."
Elena nodded, her voice barely audible. "Okay."
She didn't ask about Luca.
She didn't ask what came next.
She just lay there, wrapped in warmth and silence, letting her body recover from the quiet miracle it had just performed.
It was afternoon.
The car rolled quietly through the estate gates, the tires humming against the smooth stone driveway. Inside, Elena sat beside Brittany, her body still sore from the retrieval, her mind drifting in and out of thought.
The clinic had been sterile, focused, efficient.
The mansion felt distant now—too quiet, too polished.
Luca hadn't been around.
Brittany had mentioned he was away on business. Something important. Something that kept him out of sight for days.
Elena hadn't asked.
She didn't need to.
As the car came to a stop, Brittany glanced at her gently. "We're home."
Elena nodded, her voice soft. "Thanks for staying with me."
Brittany smiled. "Of course. You did well."
They stepped inside together, the foyer bathed in warm afternoon light. Staff moved quietly in the background, preparing for the evening. Elena paused near the staircase, then turned to Brittany.
"Would it be okay if I went to see my father?" she asked, her voice careful but clear. "Just for a little while?"
Brittany blinked, surprised—but not hesitant.
"You want to visit the hospital?"
Elena nodded. "I haven't seen him since the cycle started. I just… I want him to know I'm okay."
Brittany studied her for a moment, then gave a gentle nod. "I think that's a good idea. I'll have the chauffeur ready whenever you are."
Elena's shoulders eased.
"Thank you," she said quietly.
Elena turned and headed upstairs, her steps slow but purposeful.
She was going to see her father.
And for the first time in weeks, she felt like she had something to offer him—
Proof that she was still herself.
The light in Elena's suite was soft and golden, filtering through the sheer curtains and casting warm streaks across the floor. The room was quiet, save for the faint ticking of the antique clock on the wall.
Elena stood in front of her wardrobe, fingers grazing the fabrics.
She didn't want to look fragile.
She didn't want to look too polished either.
She chose a simple navy dress—soft cotton, long sleeves, modest neckline. Comfortable, but presentable. Something her father would recognize as *her*, not the version of her that had been living in someone else's world.
She sat at her vanity, brushing her hair gently, tying it back in a low ponytail. No makeup. Just lip balm. Her skin still looked pale, but her eyes were clear.
She opened her drawer and pulled out a small envelope—one she had tucked away weeks ago. Inside was a photo of her and her father from two years ago, taken at a roadside café. He was laughing. She was mid-bite, caught off guard. It was imperfect. It was real.
She slipped it into her purse.
Then she sat on the edge of her bed, hands folded in her lap, breathing slowly.
What would she say?
Would he ask how she was doing?
Would he ask what she was becoming?
She didn't know.
But she knew she had to go.
A soft knock interrupted her thoughts.
Brittany's voice followed. "The car's ready whenever you are."
Elena stood, smoothed the front of her dress, and grabbed her purse.
She was ready.
Not entirely.
But enough.
The city outside the car window blurred into soft streaks of light—traffic, storefronts, pedestrians moving through their own stories. Elena sat quietly in the back seat, her hands folded in her lap, her heart beating steadily beneath her dress.
The hospital came into view—tall, sterile, humming with quiet urgency.
The chauffeur pulled up to the entrance, and Brittany, seated beside Elena, gave her a gentle nod. "I'll wait here. Take your time."
Elena stepped out, the air cooler now, tinged with antiseptic and faint exhaust. She walked through the automatic doors, past the reception desk, and into the elevator.
Her father's room was on the third floor.
She hadn't been here since the day she signed the contract.
The hallway was quiet, lined with muted paintings and soft lighting. Nurses moved silently, charts in hand, voices low.
Room 312.
She paused at the door, her fingers trembling slightly as she reached for the handle.
Then she stepped inside.
The room was dim, the blinds half-drawn. Machines beeped softly, rhythmically. Her father lay in the hospital bed, still and pale, tubes trailing from his arms, oxygen gently flowing through a nasal cannula.
He was unconscious.
But he was there.
Elena stepped closer, her heels clicking softly against the tile. She stood beside him, looking down at the man who had raised her, protected her, made her laugh when she thought she couldn't.
Her lips trembled into a smile.
Then the tears came—quiet, slow, uninvited.
She reached out and touched his hand, careful not to disturb the wires.
"You'll be okay real soon, Dad," she whispered, voice cracking. "I'll make sure of that."
She stood there for a long time, letting the silence wrap around them.
She didn't need him to wake up.
She just needed him to know.
The room was still.
The machines continued their quiet rhythm, the soft hum of oxygen filling the silence. Elena remained by her father's side, her tears now dried, her expression calm.
She reached into her purse slowly and pulled out a folded envelope—worn at the edges, creased from being held too tightly.
It was a letter.
She had written it days ago, in the quiet of her suite, unsure if she'd ever have the courage to leave it behind.
She placed it gently on the bedside table, angled just enough so that if he woke, it would be the first thing he'd see.
On the front, in her careful handwriting:
"Dad — Read this when you're ready. Love, Elena."
She looked at him again.
His chest rose and fell steadily, his face peaceful despite the tubes and wires.
Elena leaned down and pressed a warm kiss to his temple, her lips lingering for a moment longer than she expected.
"I love you," she whispered.
Then she straightened, took one last look at him, and walked slowly toward the door.
At the threshold, she turned back.
He hadn't moved.
But she smiled anyway.
Because she believed he would.