I slammed the door in her face.

I SCHEDULED A SUPER late appointment for an ultrasound on the same day as the NFL draft, hoping that I would be able to escape any and all news about Grayson, but my logic failed because a group of patients was watching it on the waiting room TV.

I forced myself to look on as the New York representative took to the podium.

“With our first round, first choice pick...” he said. “New York selects University of Pittsburgh quarterback, Grayson Connors!” The crowd cheered loudly and the camera panned to Grayson standing up from the table. He smiled at the cameras, and my heart skipped a beat as he walked to the stage to receive his New York hat and jersey.

Even though I was angry at him, I was happy he was number one. I pulled out my phone to text him a last-ditch Congratulations, but I dropped it to the ground when I saw a supermodel—Elizabeth Thieles, kissing him.

What the hell? I watched to see if he would kiss her back, and he did. Then he gave her a hug and walked off stage, shattering any faith I had of us getting back together. He’d changed just like he said he wouldn’t, and I was going to have to accept that.

“Miss Taylor?” Someone called my name.

“Yes?”

“You can come to the back now.”

I followed her into a small room and undressed, simply going through the motions while my heart continued to break inside of my chest.

I lay back on the table and shut my eyes as the nurse spread a cool gel across my stomach.

“Just keep still, Miss Taylor,” she said softly. “Based on what you wrote on the form, you’re probably about eight weeks, but we’ll verify that in just a second. We’ll also have to prescribe vitamins and get you assigned to a personal doctor near Stanford. But for now, let's just get to my favorite part. Are you feeling okay?"

I didn’t answer. I’d never felt so hurt in my life.

“Okay...” The nurse was still trying to talk to me. “I’m turning on the screen and I’m using this wand that I’m pressing against you...” She moved the wand against my stomach. “This is so we can get a shot of the growing baby—i.e., little Charlotte, and the heartbeat. Feel free to look whenever you’re ready.”

I opened my eyes and looked at her, forcing myself to smile. Then I looked at the screen.

“Where is it?” I asked.

“Well, the embryo is here.” She pointed at a gray blip on the screen. She zoomed in on the image a few times, but she didn’t say anything else.

“How far along am I?” I asked.

“You were eight weeks.” She looked at me with sympathy in her eyes.

“Were?”

“There’s no fetal heartbeat, Miss Taylor.” She squeezed my hand. “At this point, in a viable pregnancy, we would see that on the screen. However, we’re going to run tests to see why this pregnancy is no longer viable, and you’ll have what you need to know in the future.” Her words chilled my skin. “You can choose to wait for your body to naturally miscarry or we can schedule a D&C procedure.”

“An abortion?”

“It’s not an abortion,” she said, softening her voice. “It’s a standard dilation and curettage procedure we use for women who have a miscarriage. It enables us to clear your uterine lining, but it’s not required. It’s just an option.”

My mind was still spinning, still processing the words “no fetal heartbeat.”

“Miss Taylor,” she said softly. “Are you aware of what I’m saying to you?”

“I don’t have a baby anymore.” I couldn’t look at her. “Is that correct?”

“That is correct.” She squeezed my hand again. “I’m very sorry, Miss Taylor. I’m going to grab my lead doctor and psychiatrist so we can run some tests and make sure you're stabilized, okay?”

I didn’t say anything. I lay there numb and in shock, unable to feel anything but heartache and tears falling down my face.

Going against my better judgment, I pulled out my phone and called Grayson again. It rang three times and in the middle of the fourth, there was a brief gap and a beep, the tell-tale sign of him hitting ignore.

“This is Grayson,” his voicemail said. “You've reached my private line, so that means I know you personally. Leave a message and I promise to get back to you."

I didn’t bother. I hung up and sent an email instead.

SUBJECT: THANK YOU + Best of luck

Grayson,

I want you to know that you are EXACTLY who I thought you were when we first met, and that you’ve taught me to trust my first instincts for the rest of my life.

I promise I’ll never call/reach out to you again.

I hate you,

Charlotte

A response came back within seconds.

Subject: Re: Thank you + Best of luck

This message has been blocked from the intended recipient as the delivering address is flagged and on the spam list.

CHARLOTTE: THEN

Seven years ago

California

SUBJECT: WITHDRAWAL

Dear Stanford Admissions Team,

My name is Charlotte Taylor and I would like to thank you for awarding me the Honors Fellowship for my full term at your university. Unfortunately, due to personal reasons, I am withdrawing from the program in hopes that someone else will be able to take advantage of such an incredible opportunity.

Thank you for understanding,

Charlotte M. Taylor

SUBJECT: ACCEPTANCE

Dear Ketchikan-Alaska Art Fellowship Admissions,

Thank you for considering my late application. I am honored to gain acceptance into your one-year program and this email serves as my official commitment statement.

Thank you,

Charlotte M. Taylor

CHARLOTTE: NOW

Present Day

New York City

THE LOOK ON GRAYSON’S face said a million words. Still speechless, he was staring blankly at the block on my bracelet and running his fingers through my hair. He shook his head every few seconds and sighed, but he didn't say anything else.

My heart felt heavy at the realization that I’d been manipulated for all these years, that everything I thought I’d known was never true. I wasn’t sure why, but a small part of me still needed to hear Grayson say that he didn't know what was happening with me back then.

“Anna never told you anything about me being pregnant?” I asked.

“No.” His voice was hoarse. “I take it she never actually sent you your ticket for draft night?”

“No.”

“Okay.” He turned to face me. “I need you to believe me when I say that I would’ve dropped everything and flown to see you immediately if I knew you were pregnant.” He clasped my hand. “Everything. No questions asked.”

“I believe you.”

“And I’m sorry you had to suffer through a miscarriage by yourself.” He looked wounded. “Someone should’ve been there for you.”

“Nadira came and held my hand when I went back,” I said.

“That explains why she wouldn’t look at me when I saw her that summer.” His voice was soft.

"She told me you called her every year."

“It took her a year just to pick up the phone.” A faint smile crossed his lips. “She told me you moved overseas.”

“I told her to lie.”

“I figured, but—” He shook his head. “I hired at least three private investigators to look for you and they all said you moved overseas, too. They all verified it.”

“Did they consider Alaska overseas?” I asked. “I was only there for a year, so maybe that’s what they found.”

“No, Anna said that—” He stopped himself. “I trusted Anna to hire all the firms. I didn’t handle that personally.”

Silence.

“I guess now I know why she was insistent on buying me new phones and installing ‘alerts’ in the event you ever called.” He gritted his teeth. “All this time. All this goddamn time...”

We didn’t say anything else to each other. We just sat in silence, both regretting the lost and stolen years. The lies and lines of botched miscommunication.