Fake Dating My Ex's Favourite Hockey Player novel Chapter 216

Chapter 216

LACEY

I don’t go in for my appointment with any hope, but somehow even that manages to disappoint.

Dr. Halprin sits across from me, kind eyes hidden behind those square glasses that have delivered the same verdict a hundred times over. She doesn’t even open my chart right away — just folds her hands on the desk like she already knows the weight of what she’s about to repeat.

—

“Your bloodwork came back,” she starts gently, voice soft like she’s afraid a louder tone might shatter me. “And it’s the same as last month. Your FSH levels are still very high. Your ovarian reserve is… extremely low.”

I bite down on the inside of my cheek. The words have worn grooves into me by now, hollowing me out, but they still find fresh places to hurt.

“So that means…?” I force out, though I already know.

“It means the chances of retrieving a viable egg of your own are almost nonexistent.” She pauses, giving me a chance to absorb it, but I don’t want her silence. Silence lets the hope creep back in, and hope is worse than the truth.

I stare at the framed diploma on the wall behind her head so I don’t have to meet her eyes/“Almost nonexistent isn’t the same as

impossible.”

Dr. Halprin sighs. She’s too good at her job to offer me lies. “No, it isn‘t. But in your case, it’s as close as it gets. We’ve tried stimulation cycles, we’ve waited and watched for spontaneous ovulation, and still…… nothing.” She shifts slightly, and then her tone changes, careful and deliberate, “Lacey, if your goal is to carry a pregnancy there are other options. With IVF using a donor egg, your chances are very good. We could start that process right away.”

The words slice me open in a way all the failed tests never could. A donor egg. Someone else’s baby, just living inside my body like a borrowed secret.

“So you’re telling me the only way I get to be a mom is if it’s not… mine?” My voice cracks on the last word.

Her face softens even more. “It would still be yours, Lacey. You would carry the pregnancy. You would give birth. You would be the baby’s mother in every way that matters.”

But I can’t swallow it. My throat tightens until the air itself feels cruel. “Except for the one way that does matter,” I whisper, hating how small I sound.

Dr. Halprin doesn’t argue, doesn’t try to fix it with pep talks about love and bonds and the miracle of science. She just lets me sit there, falling apart for the hundredth time, while I wonder how many more pieces of myself I can lose before there’s nothing left.

I smile like I’m fine, because that’s what I do best, and walk out before the weight in my chest can strangle me.

By the time I hit the parking lot, my face is already wet.

I don’t even bother turning on the radio. The silence in my car is loud enough, a hollow buzzing that seems to echo the inside of my chest. I grip the steering wheel, then let it go, then grip it again. My hands don’t know what to do with themselves.

And then it all cracks. My forehead drops against the wheel and I sob like the steering wheel personally ruined my life. Ugly, chest–heaving sobs, snot and mascara smearing onto the leather. It’s humiliating, but there’s no one here to see. No one ever is.

I’m still choking through the last ragged tears when my phone lights up across the passenger seat. Julie.

For half a second, I think about ignoring it. But I swipe anyway, pasting a smile into my voice like I’m auditioning for a toothpaste commercial.

“Hey, Jules.”

Her voice bursts through, full of sunshine and caffeine. “Guess who just got us tickets for the NYC versus Chicago game? Floor seats. Not just tickets free tickets. My brother officially loves me more than oxygen.”

I make a soft laugh, too thin. “That’s a bold claim.”

Verify captcha to read the contentVerify