They had endured ten years already one more attempt wouldn't change anything. Only after listening to them thoroughly did I finally understand: infertility. A condition I saw often. Some cases were manageable. Some nearly impossible.
My expression remained neutral. "May I ask whose issue it is?"
The man stiffened as if someone had stepped on his heart. "Dr. Bailey… is my condition truly that serious? It's been ten years… Should I give up already?" His cheeks flushed, his expression miserable like he was walking toward an execution. Perhaps he had considered artificial insemination for his wife… or adoption. But he clearly still longed for a biological child.
"Severely low sperm viability," I murmured, reviewing the diagnostic data on the portable analyzer beside me. With my mask covering half my face, only my eyes, my beauty mark, and the confident focus behind them were visible. "There are many causes for this. Your case isn't irreversible. I believe it's treatable but it will take time."
Their eyes brightened only to dim again a second later. Ten years of false promises from other doctors had worn them thin.
But he still asked, voice trembling, "Dr. Bailey… what do I need to do? I'll cooperate with everything."
Still the same principle: as long as there was hope, even a shred, we treat.
"Please go inside and lie down," I said, gesturing toward the small private exam room behind a thick curtain. "First, I'll perform a targeted neurovascular modulation procedure to open microcirculation, then I'll prescribe medication to support recovery."
He didn't hesitate, he went straight in.
Thirty minutes later, he stepped out, tidy, but wide-eyed. It wasn't his imagination. After I used a custom protocol combining deep-tissue manual release, pelvic microcurrent stimulation, and targeted peripheral nerve activation his entire lower abdomen would naturally feel warmer, looser, almost as if a warm current had flowed through him. I'd seen that reaction countless times.
"How do you feel?" I removed my mask, revealing my full face. Instantly, they both froze for a second, people always did. Young, yes. Pretty, yes. But I had chosen medicine anyway.
"It… feels amazing," the man admitted. "Like something warm moved through my body. Dr. Bailey, could you check my wife too?"
I handed him his prescription, then took the woman's pulse and vital-sign readings, gently palpating her abdomen. "Your uterine blood flow is low and your hormonal baseline is slightly suppressed. Medication will regulate your cycle."
I prescribed her treatment as well. They left soon after, and I told them to return in half a month for follow-up. They agreed immediately.
As soon as they walked out, Hezze swooped in like a gossip-hungry hawk. "Rosy, infertility cases are everywhere these days. They're in their thirties,, it's hard, you know? Can you really cure them?"
"Yes," I replied while grabbing more ingredients to prepare compounded medication. "I trust my own clinical skill. Do you trust me?"
She looked at my confidence bright and unshakable and nodded. "I do! You're incredible. Of course you can."
She had barely finished speaking when her expression froze… then turned strange.
Oh. That.
A warm dampness spread beneath her.
"!!"
It had been a month. And today was her menstrual day.
Yet she felt no pain.
None.
Her eyes widened like she'd seen a deity descend. I raised a brow. "Hezze, why are you standing like that? Are you uncomfortable?"
She shook her head, stunned. "No, I just realized, it's the first day of my cycle, but I feel absolutely nothing. This can't be real…"
Ah. Of course.
I smiled. "Go check in the bathroom."
Her eyes sparkled and she bolted off. Two minutes later she came flying back, clutching my arms like I had given her the gift of life.
"Rosy! You're a miracle worker! It's really here and I feel nothing! None of the stabbing pain, none of the cramps, I used to curl up like a dying shrimp, and now I just want to stand here with my hands on my hips and laugh!"
I couldn't help laughing myself. "So my treatment works well, hm?"
"Well? No, legendary!" she nearly shouted. "Rosy, you've saved my life!"
My phone began vibrating like it was possessed.
"Rosy! Your phone!" Hezze poked my arm.
I checked it. A message from Captain.
My breath caught for a second before I opened it.
"Oh? He wants you to bring him dinner?" Hezze blinked. "Did he skip dinner?"
I slipped my phone into my pocket. "He's busy. When he doesn't come home, he asks me to bring dinner to his office."
"He could tell the housekeeper to do it," she muttered. "But I guess this is… married life."
She wiggled her eyebrows suggestively. I ignored her and glanced at the clock nearly four already. My stomach tightened. If I was late, Captain would absolutely be unhappy.
"I need to go. I have to make dinner and deliver it."
"See you tomorrow!" she waved.
I packed up quickly and practically sprinted out the door.
Back at the villa, I rushed into the kitchen. I could not afford another spilled soup disaster, not today. "Madam, is Mr. Anderson coming home for dinner?" Nanny Alley asked when she saw me cooking.
"No, he wants me to bring it," I answered.
She smiled warmly, almost emotionally. Perhaps she imagined our relationship was improving. As if we were newlyweds.
If only she knew.
I finished the soup carefully this time packed everything neatly, and escaped out the door. Ronan was already waiting beside the Rolls-Royce. Only after I settled into the seat did I finally allow myself to breathe.