I arrived at Dr. Meyers’ office tense but confident. Cynthia and I had our issues, but medically? I was sure whatever problem existed came from her side. She was the one constantly traveling, dieting, living on champagne and maybe cocaine. It made sense.
So I walked in with a straight back, shook the doctor’s hand and took my seat.
“Lucas,” Dr. Meyers said gently, sliding a folder toward himself, “thank you for coming. I wish your wife could be here too.”
I forced a smile. “She… had commitments. But I’m here. So, talk to me. What did you find?”
He nodded, opened the file and adjusted his glasses.
“Let’s start with Cynthia’s results,” he said. “She’s fine. Perfectly healthy. Nothing alarming in her reproductive assessment.”
I blinked. “Fine?” I repeated. “No concerns at all?”
“None,”
