Date Published: December 9, 2025
Publisher: Acorn Publishing
The Hippocratic Oath dictates, “First, do no harm,” but what if
success demands it?
The calm and compassionate Dr. Joyce Porter is proud to work at McArthur
Fertility Institute, where miracles happen every day. Couples determined to
conceive flock to the clinic, drawn by its unmatched IVF success rate and
glowing reputation.
But behind the clinic’s shining facade lies a disturbing secret. When
another doctor mentions a peculiarity in the facility’s methods, Joyce
investigates. What she discovers is worse than she could have imagined. Now,
she must decide whether to confront the institute’s renowned director
about his unscrupulous deeds or compromise her ethics by turning a blind eye.
She knows staying silent could destroy people’s lives, but speaking out
could destroy hers.
As the line between healing and harm blurs, Joyce must decide how far
she’s willing to go to protect her patients, her integrity, and the
future she still hopes to build.
EXCERPT
Joyce awoke with a pounding headache and what felt like a wad of cotton in her mouth. The room was dimly lit by a desk lamp, and she was lying on a comfortable bed. Her brain was enveloped in a fog, and she felt completely disoriented. Panic overtook her as she tried to sit up. Where was she? What time was it? Why did she feel so dehydrated and weak? She attempted to maneuver off the bed, but the room began to rotate, and she was hit with a wave of nausea. With great care, she lowered herself back to a horizonal position and the nausea retreated. As some of the fuzziness cleared and the room once again became stationary, she realized she was alone in a spacious hotel room.Â
The desk lamp glowed softly, and the drapes were drawn. It was quiet, except for the soft hum of the air conditioner. She struggled to make sense of her situation and finally remembered she was at a conference in New Orleans. Glancing at the bedside table, she saw her purse, but she had no idea what time it was, or even what day. She lifted the soft blanket and saw with relief that, except for her shoes, she was fully dressed. She recognized her favorite little black dress and wondered why she was sleeping in it. Where had she been?
She strained to focus on the bedside clock. Squinting slightly, she read the bright blue digital numbers, 1:26 a.m. Then she heard a toilet flush and the sound of running water.
Immediately, her heart rate doubled, and she broke out in a cold sweat. Who is here? What happened? Am I in danger? She shook her head, trying to clear it, but the movement made her head throb even more and the nausea returned. She closed her eyes and tried to think. The last thing she remembered was being at a cocktail reception and talking to a man in a bow tie from Oregon. What was his name? She couldn’t recall. She remembered Dr. Hicks handing her a glass of red wine, but nothing after that. She doubted she’d gotten drunk and passed out, but why couldn’t she remember how she’d gotten back to her room? Was this her room?
She realized she was too weak to run away, so she felt around for something to use as a weapon. Her fingers closed on her beaded purse. It wasn’t much, but the jagged surface would probably hurt if it collided with someone’s face or head.
The bathroom door clicked, and she saw a pool of light before it was switched off. Her heart pounded and she clutched her purse. With relief, she saw Sally step into the room. She was dressed casually in designer jeans and a teal long-sleeved shirt.
“Sally, what’s happened to me?” Her voice sounded scratchy and faint.
“Oh good, you’re awake,” Sally said, peering down at her. “Why are you holding your purse?”
“I didn’t know who was in the bathroom. I thought I might have to defend myself. Is that clock right?” She struggled to sit up and was finally successful.
“Yes, you’ve been out almost six hours.”
“I’m really thirsty, and I feel like I have a hangover, but I only had one glass of wine. What happened?”
Sally grabbed a bottle of water from the mini fridge and slowly poured it into a tumbler. She handed it to Joyce, who guzzled the whole thing in one long gulp. She swiped her mouth with the back of her hand, then set the glass down and looked up expectantly.
“I have no idea. You tell me. I was in the elevator headed down to meet some friends. When the doors opened on the main level, there was Hicks holding you up. You looked terrible. He said you weren’t feeling well, and he was taking you up to your room.”
Joyce’s hands began to tremble and her heart rate, which had just begun to settle, accelerated. “Oh my God. Did he?”
“No,” Sally said decisively. “I ran him off. I told him we were rooming together, and that I’d take care of you. Reluctantly, he handed me your key and your purse, and I brought you back here. You’ve been sleeping ever since.”
Joyce tried to stand but another wave of vertigo caused her to sway. Sally gently pushed her down and arranged the pillows behind her head. “Now, why don’t you tell me what you remember.”
About the Author
before shifting to a career in higher education, first as an assistant
professor, then as a college dean, and finally as a vice president.
Her dedication to helping patients and students left her little time to write,
but the idea for a novel stuck with her. Inspired by deeply moving stories of
couples undergoing IVF, she developed her first novel, In Vitro.
Now retired, M.J. lives in the Pacific Northwest with her husband and a spicy
cat named Simon. She volunteers at a local elementary school, where she reads
with kindergarteners to foster a love of books. Tai chi, crafting, and wine
tasting are a few of her favorite hobbies.
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