The Year I Was the Other Woman To Myself novel Chapter 25

After forcing her gaze away from the man’s captivating face, Penelope scanned the room again and realized he was the only other person there. He couldn’t possibly be the old doctor, which meant he had to be… a patient?

Her eyes landed on a large, red-lettered sign on the wall behind him: ‘Specializing in Infertility.’ Understanding dawned.

“Are you here to see the doctor too?” she asked.

“…”

“Do you know where he is?”

“…”

“Have you been waiting long?”

“…”

She asked three questions in a row, but the man didn't respond, his attention fixed on the documents in his hands.

“Oh, I see. You’re deaf,” Penelope muttered with a slight pout. What a waste of a handsome face, she thought. So rude.

Even her blatant sarcasm elicited no reaction. He didn't so much as twitch.

Fine.

Penelope sighed. He was waiting, so she would wait too.

To pass the time, she scrolled through her phone. Her friend Wilma sent her a photo of a bright, handsome young man. Penelope replied with a series of question marks, and Wilma sent back a drooling emoji.

“My family set me up on a blind date. He’s taking me for a walk in the park right now. Cute, right?”

Instead of answering, Penelope discreetly snapped a photo of the man sitting across from her and sent it to Wilma.

Wilma: Is that a statue?

Penelope: Nope.

Wilma: An android?

Penelope: A real person.

Wilma: OMG, how can anyone be that gorgeous? It defies science!

Penelope: It’s a bit of a shame, though.

“You think I’m thin? And who is ‘he’?”

“Well, isn’t this a coincidence.”

“What’s a coincidence?”

“Have a seat. I’ll be right with you.” With that, the old man scurried off toward the back of the clinic.

Penelope was left utterly bewildered. Were they even having the same conversation?

“He’s probably just hard of hearing from old age,” she muttered to herself. The old one might be deaf, but what about the young one?

She glanced over at the handsome man. He was still reading his file, completely oblivious to her presence.

A few minutes later, Dr. Zade returned, now wearing a crisp white lab coat. His previously messy hair was neatly combed and held in place with gel. He continued to stroke his beard, his small, bright eyes darting around. He looked quite old but had a rosy complexion and a vibrant energy. He sat down behind a long, worn-out wooden desk, composed himself, located a small pulse pillow, and then tapped the table expectantly.

Penelope’s lip twitched again. Why tap the table? Couldn't he just speak?

Despite her internal grumbling, she sat down beside the desk and placed her wrist on the pillow. The old doctor placed his fingers on her pulse point, closed his eyes in concentration for a moment, then asked her a series of questions. When he was done, he removed his hand.