I’d researched online for the best fertility clinic and sneakily made a booking three days ago.

Suzette and I didn’t talk much on the train, and for a second, I pretended life was simple and I was an architectural student again, heading into the city with a girlfriend for lunch, rather than the truth that I was a complicated woman terribly missing her harsh master.

After hailing a cab, we arrived at the address. Silently, we entered the building where I filled in a few forms and sat in a plush recliner beside Suzette until I was called into the doctor’s office.

Giving me an encouraging smile, Suzette waited patiently in the sleek waiting room.

My hands shook as I entered the doctor’s suite and closed the door.

“Hello, Mrs. Mercer.”

I’d become so used to French accents, I did a double take finding this woman was English. I didn’t often feel like a stranger in this city, but hearing another foreigner made me a little wistful.

Facing the medical practitioner, I put my future happiness in her hands.

Dr. Fellows smiled as my heels clicked on her white tiled floor. The air of the room was entirely clinical with no personality whatsoever.

I nodded. “Hello.”

She wasn’t old but she wasn’t young, either. I guessed late forties. Blonde hair tucked neatly into a bun while the lashings of mascara and pink lipstick made her pretty but professional.

Had she had children of her own? Had she ever gone through this stress of a stubborn husband and floundering sex-life?

Pointing at a chair beside her desk, she said, “So, from our very brief conversation online, I hear you’re trying to get pregnant but struggling?”

Sinking onto the seat, I nodded again. “Yes, my husband and I have been trying, but we’re not succeeding. The chore of having sex just to get pregnant is wearing on me and I want to know either way.” I didn’t tell her why I wanted my monster back. Why I was alone without him and desperate for what we used to have. Five weeks was too long not to connect in the way we needed.

Dr. Fellows scanned her computer, pulling up information on who knew what. “Okay, well we’ll start with a full examination and then we’ll have a chat. How about that?”

My hackles rose.

I was happy for her to prod my body but not my mind. Until Q, I was an outcast and uncommon. No one could understand the way I was hardwired. That wouldn’t have changed now I was older. When I was younger, I had no courage to be open about who I truly was. Now, I was wiser, and I didn’t give a rat’s ass what other people thought about me. But blatantly telling this stranger that I missed my husband hitting me and drawing blood? That would mostly cause me to be shipped off to a nunnery and locked up for my safety.

I’d been locked up far too often in my past by assholes who’d tried to break me. I wouldn’t let it happen again. Then again, this woman was nothing compared to what I’d endured.

A flicker of abusive men and awful drug-sickness filled my mind.

My throat closed.

Oh my God, maybe I’m the reason why I can’t get pregnant?

Perhaps the rape I’d endured and the drugs I’d been fed had ruined me? Maybe the kicks to my stomach and damage of my physical form had decimated any hope of being able to carry a healthy baby for Q.

I couldn’t believe I hadn’t thought about it before. Why hadn’t I considered it?

Because you’re so worried about Q thinking it’s his fault that he’s got you convinced.

Being away from him for the first time in months allowed me to think clearer. What if this was all my fault?

“Are you okay? What are you thinking about?” Dr. Fellows patted my hand. “You went white just now.”

Pulling my hand from hers, I smiled weakly. “I’m okay. Just a thought, that’s all.”

“About your past and what might be obstructing your chances at getting pregnant?”

I looked at my entwined fingers in my lap. The designer jeans and silver oversized jumper with Hermes scarf labeled me as well off and content, but my fingernails were bitten from the malicious uncertainty of the past few weeks. “A little.”

“Do you want to talk about it?”

“Not really.”

“What makes you think you’ve done something to affect your chances?”

I swallowed a caustic laugh. “I have a few things that could.”

Dr. Fellows narrowed her eyes. “You’re not obligated to tell me, but everything you do will help me make an accurate diagnosis. Don’t be afraid of it leaving this room. I’m bound by client confidentiality, and even if I wasn’t, I don’t believe in gossip.” She smiled. “You can trust me, Mrs. Mercer.”

Mrs. Mercer.

I was no longer Tess.

I could be honest with this woman, and she wouldn’t judge me.

Forcing courage into my voice, I looked up. “A few years ago, I was kidnapped, sold into slavery, and bought.” By the man I married and the best beast I know. “In a separate incident, I was raped and kidnapped, only to be fed drugs as a way of control and beaten daily.”

The doctor sucked in a harsh breath. “And you underwent medical help for these incidences?”

“Yes.” Q’s personal physician. I’d had good care but perhaps not the gynecological care I needed. “However, I’m not sure if all bases were covered.”

The doctor stood up, brisk efficiency surrounded her rather than judgment. “In that case, no time like the present. Let’s get you on the table and begin.” As she patted the gurney and plastic coverings waiting for me to strip and bare everything to this woman, she added, “I promise you we’ll find the answers. We’ll put your mind at rest, and I’ll help you deal with whatever we find once we get the results. Okay?”