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“How far along?”
“About six weeks. Maybe seven. I need to make an appointment—”
He stood so quickly the chair scraped the floor.
“That’s impossible.”
I blinked.
“What?”
He gave a cold, ugly laugh.
“Not my child.”
The words hit harder than any slap.
“Nolan, we’ve been trying.”
“I haven’t touched you in weeks.”
“That’s not true.”
His face twisted.
“Don’t insult me.”