The private clinic in Ikoyi smelled like disinfectant and money.
Lara sat on the edge of the examination table in a paper gown that crinkled every time she breathed. Her hands were clasped so tightly in her lap that her knuckles had gone white. Kai stood beside her, one hand resting on her shoulder, thumb stroking slow circles through the thin fabric. He looked calm on the outside—black shirt, dark jeans, that quiet confidence that made nurses glance twice—but she could feel the tension in his fingers.
Dr. Adeyemi was a small woman in her fifties with kind eyes and steady hands. She’d taken one look at Kai when they walked in, raised an eyebrow, and simply said, “I don’t ask questions I don’t want answers to.” Then she’d led them straight to the ultrasound room without small talk.
Now t
