“Excuse me, Mrs. Kingsley,” the concierge called as he approached, holding a large manila envelope.
“Yes?” she replied.
“This was delivered this afternoon. I was instructed to hand it to you personally.”
Brooke’s heart sank as she guessed it held her copy of the divorce agreement. “Thank you,” she whispered, accepting the package. “Let me...” Brooke fumbled with her purse as tears burnt the back of her eyes. Her whole body went numb and it had nothing to do with her multiple sclerosis.
Brooke’s mind jumped back in time to the day she’d attended her sister-in-law China’s baby shower. It was the day that changed the course of her life. China looked especially beautiful; she was glowing like the moon on a clear night and if Brooke could have disappeared, she would have. She had just received her MS diagnosis and had been informed that pregnancy for her might not be possible, depending on her therapy. Her doctors explained that she could have a small window should she want to try and have a baby of her own, but they needed to determine her therapy as soon as possible. Brooke’s difficult childhood and pessimistic attitude toward having her own happily ever after only allowed her to believe the worst.
After receiving such devastating news, Brooke had been in no mood to celebrate but she had to show her support for China and Alexander. After all, they were her family now. Brooke smiled through the games and forced down delicious food and champagne. She held back tears when everyone asked when she and Brice were going to start having babies. It was only after people started taking bets on when that might happen that she found a reason to excuse herself.
It was that day—along with a not-so-veiled threat to expose her past to her new family—that Brooke had decided to leave Brice. She thought he deserved someone better than her. In her mind, her diagnosis just confirmed what she’d always known: She’d never be truly happy. Brooke hadn’t had a happy childhood, so how could she have a happy adult life?
“I got it.” Peter opened his leather bag, pulled out his wallet and handed the concierge a generous tip. Brooke stood, staring down at the envelope. “Let’s get you upstairs.”
Peter took Brooke by the elbow and led her to the elevator. She held the envelope to her chest as tears welled in her eyes. They rode up in silence, exited the elevator and walked the short distance to her door. Brooke crossed the threshold, wandered into the living room and gingerly sat on the sofa.
Peter went into the kitchen, removed a bottle of water from the refrigerator, twisted off the cap and came back into the main room, handing the bottle to Brooke. “Drink.”
Brooke took several sips. “Thanks.” She set the envelope on the coffee table.
“Do you need a minute?”
Brooke took a deep breath and released it slowly. “No, let’s get this exam done.”
Peter removed a penlight and reflex hammer from his bag and placed them on the table. He stood and moved to the middle of the room. “You know the drill.”
Brooke kicked off her shoes, then went and stood in front of Peter. She presented her hands palms down. “No tremors.”
“Good.”
She extended her arms out to her side and brought her right index fingers to her nose. “I feel like I’m taking a sobriety test.”
“You say that every time,” he reminded Brooke. “Left hand, please.”
Brooke complied. “What’s next?”
“You know, walk the line. Heel to toe, please.”
Brooke released a loud moan. “Here goes nothing.” Brooke completed the task, but it took her longer than normal because she was tired and her muscles were reminding her of that fact.
“Not bad. Take a seat,” he instructed.
Brooke returned to the sofa and took several sips from her water bottle. She felt like she’d just run a mile full out. Peter checked her reflexes and responses to light. “Everything looks good,” he announced as he made notes on his tablet.
“I told you when you came to Paris that I was fine and symptom-free.” Peter gave her the side-eye. “Well, mostly symptom-free.”
“We talked about this. You're fortunate that you don't have the more common symptoms of motor problems, cognitive issues, severe pain and sexual dysfunction, to name a few, but that can change over time. While your symptoms aren’t chronic, flare-ups can be triggered by stress. The fatigue, muscle pain, numbness and tingling in your limbs can be hard on your system.”
“I know all of this, Peter.” Brooke reached for her room-service menu.
Peter continued as though she hadn’t said a word. “And while your symptoms will disappear and remain repressed when you remove the triggers, let’s try to avoid them altogether, shall we? Otherwise, you'll keep repeating the cycle.”
Brooke gave Peter a two-fingered salute. “Yes, sir.”
Peter packed his bag. “One more thing. I know you think you’re doing what’s best for your husband, but if I were him, I’d want to know the truth. MS isn’t a death sentence.”
“I know that, Doctor, but it can be a long and difficult journey.” Not to mention having to deal with my colorful past. That's too much to ask of anyone, no matter how much they love you.
“Yes, it can, but it can also be filled with lots of love and even children.”
“I don’t want to talk about this. I’m ordering food. Care for anything?” Brooke picked up the menu and started browsing through it.
“No, thank you, and I think we should,” he said, taking the menu from Brooke. “Having MS shouldn’t stop you from getting pregnant or having a healthy pregnancy. Now, if you were in the middle of a specialized treatment plan, that would be a different story and even then, we’d just suspend the treatments until you delivered. You’re nowhere near that, either.”
Not with my luck. A successful career is about as close as I'm going to get to having a family. “I understand you’re trying to help, but I’ve made my decision. I’m not dragging Brice into this mess of a life I have. He’s better off finding someone without so much baggage,” she declared, reaching for the menu.
“Fine, but don’t you think that’s a decision your husband has a right to make?”
“No! Now if you’re done—”
“Actually—”
“With your role as my medical doctor, I’d like to call it a night. I need to eat and get my rest. Doctor’s orders,” she reminded him, rising from her spot on the sofa.
Peter exhaled loudly. “Fine. I may be your doctor, Brooke, but you’re also my family. I just want you to be happy and it’s obvious you’re not happy about losing the only man you’ve ever loved.”
“I know you do, and I’ll always be grateful to you and your family for taking me in that last year I was in high school. Yours was the only foster home I ever felt safe in.”
“Just think about what I said.”
“Okay. You know, you really need to find a life of your own and stop worrying about mine.”
“So my mother keeps telling me.” He picked up his bag and walked to the door. “See you in a couple of months, unless you need me before then.”
“I won’t. Thanks, Peter.”
Brooke closed the door and suddenly she wasn’t hungry, but she knew she had to put some food in her stomach before she took her medicine. She went to the phone and ordered something light. After placing the request, she went to the bedroom, undressed and took a quick shower. Brooke was standing in the middle of the bathroom, her body wrapped in a large towel, squeezing the excess