Dad slid in on my left, all casual. “Why’d you come alone? Everything okay?” 

Mom leaned her head on my shoulder, smiling soft. “She’s grown up. Worrying about us now.” 

Dad faked a grumble and pinched my cheek. “Still—don’t come here alone again, got it?” 

Perfect moment. 

I slipped my recording phone into his pocket. “I know, I know. I messed up. Can you hold my phone while I get checked?” 

So normal, so smooth—they didn’t blink. 

At the OB-GYN department, I walked in solo. 

They stood by the door, smiling, waving, full of fake concern. 

I used to think I had the best family in the world. 

Now? It felt like being wrapped in snakes—tight, cold, and ready to strike. 

“Doctor, how is she?” Mom rushed over with my report the second we were done. 

Dad pulled out his little notebook which recorded all my preferences and restrictions like it meant something. 

To anyone watching, they looked like the perfect, doting parents—if only they knew. 

“Dad, Mom, I need the restroom,” I said, voice light. 

I took the phone back, smiling like nothing was wrong, and slipped into the washroom, hands shaking. 

I thought I was ready to hear it. A hundred times, I told myself I could handle it. 

But that first line hit like a blade. 

“Mr. Adelson, Mrs. Adelson, your daughter’s recovery is going well. Her injuries have healed, and with proper care, she could conceive soon. Should we stop the medication? If she keeps taking it, she might become permanently infertile. That would be too cruel.” 

My doctor. He actually sounded… guilty. 

Losing the chance to be a mom? That’s cruel enough. 

Then Dad cut in, sharp. 

“I didn’t hire you to worry about that. She can’t stop. It’s just a kid. Worst case, she adopts—less pain for her.” 

Mom jumped in, cold as ice. “Yasmine’s always been weak. No kids is better. You’re just a doctor. Stick to that, got it?” 

The doctor caved fast. “I wasn’t trying to interfere. Just warning you—if this keeps up, your daughter could lose her fertility and suffer side effects.” 

Dad didn’t flinch. “Not your problem. Just keep her looking healthy. That’s all we need.” 

“Yes, sir.” 

Click. Silence. 

And me? Frozen. 

For years, I blamed myself for not giving Chuck a kid. 

My parents swore it wasn’t my fault—that some things just aren’t meant to be. 

But it was their fault. I was never infertile. They made sure I couldn’t have his child. 

Because I didn’t deserve to. Not like her—their real daughter. 

Now it all made sense. The endless meds. The fake support. The lies dressed as love. 

It was all fake. 

Tears slid down as my body shook, drained and hollow. 

“Yasmine?” 

A knock came at the door. It was Mom, wondering why I hadn’t returned.