But as the seconds ticked by, the doctor’s expression shifted significantly. His brow furrowed deeply.
He moved the transducer again, his eyes darting between the screen and the intake forms on his tablet. “Doctor?” Marcus asked, his voice tensed with a sudden, unformed fear.
“Is my boy healthy? Look at those shoulders, he’s a fighter, isn’t he?”
Dr. Vance didn’t answer him immediately. He clicked a button on the console, zooming in on the crown rump length of the fetus.
He looked at Penelope, then at Marcus, his face becoming a mask of professional, cold neutrality. “We have a discrepancy here,” the doctor said quietly.
“A discrepancy? What does that mean?” Marcus barked, his voice rising in panic.
The doctor straightened his lab coat and pressed an intercom button on the wall. “Connect me to the legal department and have security stand by in ultrasound room three immediately.”
Marcus froze in place. Penelope’s face went from pale to completely translucent. The door, which hadn’t been fully latched, was pushed open by the eavesdropping Linda and Roxanne.
“Is something wrong with the baby?” Linda gasped, clutching her pearls.
The doctor turned to face the entire family, his voice ringing with a terrifying, absolute clarity. “Mr. Henderson, based on the fetal development, bone density, and gestational size, conception occurred exactly four weeks earlier than the dates provided on the intake forms.”
The air in the room seemed to solidify into ice. Marcus looked at Penelope with wide, disbelieving eyes.
Penelope looked at the floor, unable to meet his gaze. “I don’t understand,” Marcus stammered. “A month? That is impossible. We weren’t even together then.”
“I mean,” the doctor interrupted, his voice dropping an octave, “that Miss Penelope was already pregnant before your documented timeline of exclusive intimacy began. By a full month.”
Chapter 3: The Ghost in the Machine
“Whose child is this?” Marcus’s roar echoed through the sterile halls of the clinic, a sound of primal, wounded pride.
Penelope sat up on the exam table, clutching the thin paper gown as if it could shield her from the sudden fury of the man she had manipulated. “Marcus, wait! The doctor is making a mistake, it’s just a growth spurt!”
