Chapter 3: The Clinic and the Woman in the Guest Room

The next morning, sunlight crept in, soft and golden. Derek and I paid respects to the Parker elders—coffee brewing, bacon sizzling, laughter erasing the last traces of nerves. They welcomed me like I’d always belonged.

Afterward, I walked to the clinic. The receptionist spotted me and nearly choked on his donut. "So, Mrs. Parker—how’s the fancy life treating you? Slumming it with us regular folks?"

I rolled my eyes. "Not as hard as you’d think. I just missed everyone, so I couldn’t wait to come back."

He winked and handed me a stack of charts, letting the subject drop. Derek had always said I could work if I wanted—no judgment, no questions.

At noon, a housekeeper from the Parker house rushed in. "The lady brought by the guest has a headache. Mrs. Parker asks if you can come take a look."

Panic shot through me. Was the Governor still there? But the housekeeper only nodded, misunderstanding. Relief washed over me. I grabbed my bag and followed her, steeling myself for whatever waited.

Inside the guest room: not Jessica Johnson, but a stranger—auburn curls, sharp eyes, confidence even in illness. Still, she felt oddly familiar.

She smiled. "You must be Mr. Parker’s new wife? You’re very beautiful."

I nodded, took her pulse, scribbled a prescription. As I turned to leave, she caught my hand, cheeks flushed. "You wouldn’t happen to have anything… you know, to spice things up for the honeymoon? Just for fun."

I blinked, surprised. Had Caleb changed that much? But no—she laughed, shaking her head. "It’s not what you think. Just a little fun."

I smiled, gently. "But your body isn’t well yet."

She sighed, disappointed, but nodded. "We won’t use it right away."

"No. It’s better if you don’t share a bed for a few days."

She pouted but agreed. I left the room, heart pounding. In the hallway, I ducked into a side corridor as footsteps approached. My back pressed to the cool plaster, breath caught in my throat. Every footstep in the hall sounded like a countdown.

It was Caleb Harris—walking down the hall like he owned the place, same as always, even a thousand miles from his old marble world. He paused at the guest room door, scanning the hall. I held my breath, willing myself invisible.

"You said Derek Parker’s wife came?"

"Yes, Mrs. Lane wasn’t feeling well and asked her to take a look. She should have left by now."

"If you’re concerned, should I bring Mrs. Parker back?"

"No need."

I slipped away, pulse racing, knowing how close I’d come to being caught.