“What’s that supposed to mean?” Jamison turned to his mother, his voice sharp and incredulous. “You gave her a three-year deadline? If she can’t give you a grandchild, you’re making her leave me?”

Adela Ludwig corrected him at once. “That was her idea, not mine! She was just making empty promises to get on my good side!”

Jamison stared at her, refusing to believe it. Things between him and Ivy had been wonderful lately—sweet as honey, to the point where a single day apart felt like an eternity. Why would she ever suggest something so harsh herself? Who said she could just walk away after three years? Wasn’t that like handing down a death sentence and making them both live each day on borrowed time?

“It must have been you who pressured her. She only agreed to this because you forced her hand,” Jamison insisted, absolutely certain of his wife’s innocence.

Adela Ludwig was so exasperated she didn’t want to end up back in the hospital. She raised a trembling hand and snapped, “Get out of my sight. I don’t want to see you right now.”

Jamison was all too happy to leave—he needed to go home and get some answers from that stubborn, infuriating Ivy. He’d given her everything, loved her with his whole heart—how could she even think of leaving?

But before he stormed out, he needed one more answer: “Who told you Ivy was sick and couldn’t have children?”

Adela’s anger only deepened; she had no intention of answering. “Just go. If you don’t want to send your mother to an early grave, then get out. Now.”

Danny, worried about his wife’s health, raised a soup bowl as if threatening to throw it. “Are you leaving or not? If you don’t, I’ll crack your head with this.”

Jamison stood his ground, deliberately pushing, “Was it my sister who told you? She’s always had it out for Ivy.”

Adela’s surprise was genuine this time. “Your sister knew about this?”

The moment he saw his mother’s reaction, combined with Carla’s attitude earlier, Jamison realized it couldn’t have been his sister who spilled the secret. So who was it, then?

He fell silent, thinking hard. His eyes narrowed in suspicion as he tried, “Did you overhear something at the hospital?”

Adela was practically shaking with rage. “You’re the one who lied to your own mother, and now you’re blaming everyone else?”

She wouldn’t say it outright, but Jamison understood. He’d gotten the answer he needed, and there was no point arguing with her anymore.

“Enjoy your dinner, Mom, Dad. I have things to take care of, so I’ll head out. I’ll come visit again this weekend if I have time.” He was already striding for the door before he finished speaking.

“Who cares if you come back, you ungrateful son! Lanny, next time don’t let him in!” Adela snapped, her temper flaring as she ordered the butler.

Poor Lanny, caught in the crossfire, could only nod meekly and try to calm the furious old lady.

The drive from the old family estate to his apartment near the hospital was already long, and Friday night traffic made it even worse. While his car sat motionless in a sea of red taillights, Jamison replayed his mother’s recent hospital check-up in his mind. He pulled out his phone and called the floor supervisor who’d looked after her that day.

The head nurse answered, professional and polite. “Dr. Ludwig? How can I help you?”

“Yes, I wanted to ask who was on shift and interacted with my mother when she came in for her check-up?”

Jamison reasoned that Ivy didn’t have many close friends, and almost no one knew the full extent of her medical condition. As luck would have it, she’d visited him at the hospital not long ago and collapsed from cramps; Celeste and a few colleagues had helped her that day. But severe cramps alone couldn’t explain infertility. Only someone with access to her confidential medical records would know the specifics—Celeste seemed the most likely candidate.

Both times he’d brought Ivy to see Professor Penn, Celeste had been there, too. It wasn’t impossible she might have peeked into Ivy’s file. Still, even if Celeste did know, that didn’t mean she’d run straight to his mother. Maybe she’d mentioned it to someone else in the department, and the story slipped out from there.

He needed to know exactly who had spoken with his mother that day.