The Surgeon's Baby Surprise

But it wouldn’t be long before he worked it out. And Evie knew she had to get in there first and tell him about Imogen. His reactions this afternoon had shown more concern for her well-being than she could have imagined. Max wasn’t as uninterested in her as she’d been led to believe.

‘For what it’s worth—’ his voice cut through the silence ‘—I think the death of your mother, so close to your own recent diagnosis, is what’s causing you not to think straight.’

‘Think straight?’

‘About Annie being your donor? I can tell you’re having doubts, Evie. You’re physically and emotionally worn out and you’re getting cold feet because the operation is imminent. You know yourself how patients can get before an operation, any operation. I hope you’re not considering refusing Annie’s offer.’

She’d thought about it. A thousand times. But on the few occasions where she’d raised it with Annie, her sister-in-law had refused to listen, lovingly laying on the guilt as she reminded Evie that she was all Imogen had, and that she owed it to her daughter to accept the kidney.

‘I’m not going to refuse. Annie wouldn’t allow it,’ Evie hiccupped. ‘But it doesn’t necessarily make it any easier.’

‘It’s called the gift of life for a reason, Evie.’ He stroked her hand gently. ‘And I understand your initial concerns. But think of it this way—you’re clearly a close family and you owe it to your niece and nephew to be the cool aunt you clearly already are to them.’

Evie froze, his words hurling spikes of ice down her spine.

‘My niece?’

‘I saw the photographs.’

He jerked his head to the bookshelf. Nausea churned up Evie’s stomach. This was it. She had to do it now.

She couldn’t find the words and the room swayed. She grabbed at the couch; the familiar feel of the piping on the cushion was comforting and she plucked at it absently.

‘Evie? Are you okay?’ His voice was sharp, his hand slipping into her hair to force her to look at him.

The hallway clock ticked audibly, outside the street was quiet—to anyone else it might even appear peaceful—a gaggle of geese passing noisily outside the window.

‘Evie.’ He snapped his fingers in front of her face.

Slowly she lifted her eyes to his.

‘That’s not my niece,’ she whispered.

He looked surprised but still didn’t understand. A gurgle of semi-hysterical laughter bubbled up inside her.

Max Van Berg, the high-flying surgeon who never missed a thing in a patient, was missing the one thing staring him right in the face.

‘Imogen is my daughter.’ Her eyes raked over his face, willing him to really hear what she was telling him. ‘She’s your daughter.’

CHAPTER THREE (#uf77c2fea-514c-5448-8b9f-aec01c03beb3)

‘YOU HAVE A DAUGHTER?’

He knew the words were there but his brain didn’t appear to be processing the message clearly. It might as well have been trying to work in a vat of thick treacle.

‘We have a daughter,’ Evie repeated tentatively.

Slowly, slowly, his brain began to pick up speed.

‘I have a daughter,’ he repeated, his hand dropping from Evie’s hair as he pushed himself away from her. ‘I have a three-month-old baby, and you didn’t tell me until now?’

Evie crossed her arms over her chest, refusing to meet his eyes.

‘Five months old,’ she answered shakily.

‘Sorry?’

‘Imogen is five months old. Not three.’

He turned to pin her with a narrow gaze as she reached for his glass and took a generous gulp as though she was parched. It took a moment for him to register.

‘That’s enough,’ he bit out, taking the juice from her and setting it out of reach before pushing himself up from the couch and moving over to the window, reinforcing the space between them.

‘Drinking that won’t help you,’ he muttered, staring out at the uneventful street scene.

‘Thank you,’ she whispered so quietly he almost missed it.

He could certainly go for a drink himself. A drink of the large, stiff variety, not a glass of orange juice. And he rarely drank.

‘We slept together a year ago. You’re telling me the baby was two months premature?’

‘That’s not unusual given my...condition.’

He had to strain to hear her.

‘The baby was born at thirty-two weeks? Thirty-three?’

‘Thirty-two weeks. I went onto dialysis five days a week to carry her for as long as I could, but my body was under pressure, so they made the decision...’

Part of his brain told him that she’d done well to get that far. Her health would have been deteriorating rapidly as the growing foetus put more and more strain on her already stressed organs. It certainly explained why she’d gone from healthy when they were together a year ago, to being taken in for her transplant within the week.

‘You never thought to...not to have it? For your health? For the baby’s health?’

Even the words tasted bitter in his mouth.

He knew instantly that he’d said the wrong thing. If he’d felt he’d somehow passed some unknown test earlier, he knew he’d clearly fallen short of the mark now. A shuttered expression dropped over Evie’s features and her voice turned cold.

‘That’s all I needed to know.’ Her voice was shaking. Whether from anger or distress, he couldn’t be sure, but his own emotions were too uprooted to care.

‘Please leave, Max.’

How had this turned around so that she was the one furious with him?

He swung around incredulously.

‘Really, Evangeline? For the last twelve months you have wilfully kept the knowledge of my baby from me, and now you’re the one acting hard done by?’

‘Because you’ve just told me you thought I should have...never had her.’