Chapter 5 - The Ultrasound and the Ultimatum
Back at St. Victoria Medical Center, the afternoon sun cast long, golden stripes across the white floors of my private suite.
Dr. Keller walked in carrying a fresh set of fetal monitoring strips and a warm, genuine smile that reached her eyes.
“Well, Ms. Grant,” Dr. Keller said, pulling up a chair and tapping the digital screen. “The stress levels have dropped significantly. Whatever conversation you just had outside this door worked wonders for your blood pressure. The baby’s heartbeat is strong, steady, and entirely unfazed by family drama.”
A wave of profound, aching relief washed over me. I rested both hands gently over my rounding stomach, closing my eyes as I breathed in the quiet hum of the room.
“Thank you, Dr. Keller,” I whispered.
“Don't thank me yet,” a new voice spoke from the doorway.
My father strode into the room. William Grant looked every bit the corporate titan he was—tall, silver-haired, wearing a bespoke navy suit that hadn't seen a wrinkle despite a twelve-hour private flight from Zurich. But the moment his eyes met mine, all the boardroom hardness melted away. He rushed to the side of the bed, dropping his leather briefcase on the floor and gently gathering me into his arms.
“My baby girl,” he choked out, his voice thick with a vulnerability he never showed the public. “I should never have let you play at being ordinary in Boston. I should have bought this hospital the minute you got engaged.”
“I wanted to do it on my own, Dad,” I murmured against his shoulder, smiling through fresh tears. “I wanted to know someone could love me without checking my family’s net worth first.”
“Well, you found out,” Victoria chimed in from the doorway, holding up a signed document with Ethan’s shaky signature scrawled at the bottom. “And as a bonus, we now own ninety-two percent of Caldwell Heritage Resorts, three of their luxury hotels in downtown Boston, and Ethan’s vintage Porsche.”
Dad pulled back, looking at the document with a cold, satisfied smirk that matched Victoria’s. “And what about the golden boy himself?”
“He’s currently sitting in a holding cell down at the precinct, waiting for his mother to realize he threw her under the bus the second my firm mentioned prison time,” Victoria replied smoothly. “Ethan tried to negotiate a monthly allowance in exchange for a quiet divorce. I countered by letting him keep his clothes and a bus ticket to Vermont.”
I looked down at the ultrasound printout resting on my bedside table—a grainy, beautiful black-and-white image of a tiny profile, hands curled near its face.
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“He doesn't get to be a father,” I said, my voice dropping any trace of hesitation. “I want his parental rights fully terminated before this baby is born. No shared custody, no backdoor access, no inheritance claims. Clean break.”
“Already written into the settlement,” Victoria confirmed, tapping her folder. “By tomorrow morning, Ethan Caldwell won't even have the legal right to ask what school your child attends.”
