Arriving at the hospital, Amelia went to the doctor she was acquainted with to have an ultrasound scan.
After the checkup, the doctor noted, “Mrs. Clinton, you‘re very healthy, and the baby is developing well.”
“Thank you, Dr. Leonard. All I want is for my child to be born safely. No matter if my baby‘s a girl or a boy,
I‘ll give you a gift as thanks.” Amelia chuckled as she tidied up her clothes. (Daily latest update
www.m.techkaushal.com)
Maria Leonard was a mild–mannered, middle-aged woman. She smiled back at her and said, “Mrs.
Clinton, it‘s all right. It‘s my job as a doctor to do ultrasound scans for you. Moreover, you were the one
who helped my husband with the plot of land back then. We haven‘t even thanked you for that, so how
can we still accept your gift?” (Daily latest update www.techkaushal.com)
Climbing down from the bed, Amelia responded, “Dr. Leonard, that‘s where you‘re wrong. I was helping
with Mr. Freeman‘s land as a friend. If my baby comes to this world safe and sound, you‘ll be our savior.
You have to accept the gift.”
Unable to reject her, Maria relented, “Mrs. Clinton, you‘re generous. It‘s my pleasure to have met a
wealthy woman like you.” (Daily latest update www.m.techkaushal.com)
Sending her out, Maria reminded, “Mrs. Clinton, if you feel unwell, remember to call me.”
Amelia smiled. “Well, I hope you won‘t find me disturbing then.”
After bidding farewell to Maria, Tiffany asked in concern, “Amelia, how‘s my dear godson?”
Amelia touched her stomach and murmured fondly, “Tiff, how would you know if my baby‘s a boy? What
if it‘s a girl?” (Daily latest update www.m.techkaushal.com)
Turning the steering wheel, Tiffany announced, “I‘ll still love her if she‘s a goddaughter. If your baby‘s a
girl, I‘ll dress her up like a princess when she‘s a little older. I‘ll take her to the kindergarten and pick her
up at night. I‘ll cook for her and tell her stories before she sleeps. She‘ll tell me in a sweet voice, ‘Good
night, Aunt Tiff. Just the thought of it melts my heart!“.
Amused, Amelia inquired, “Since you like kids so much, why don‘t you have one yourself?”
Tiffany shrugged and replied nonchalantly, “The dozens of characters in my book will be my children. I
don‘t think I‘d want any in real life. I‘d have to find someone to get married to and get pregnant before I
can have a kid. I might as well take your son as my godson. That way, I‘ll have a free son.” Amelia
snorted. (Daily latest update www.m.techkaushal.com)
Arriving at the largest supermarket in the city, Tiffany drove into its underground parking lot, and only
then did she unbuckle her safety belt.
“Tiff, why are we at a supermarket?”
Tiffany gave her a look of disbelief. “My precious godson‘s in your stomach for three months. I‘ve got to
prepare baby clothes, diapers, and toys for him. And I’m going to buy tons of things to decorate his
nursery. Are you planning to only do this after he‘s born?”
Amelia was nonplussed. (Daily latest update www.m.techkaushal.com)
“Tiff, what‘s wrong with you? He‘s only three months old. There’ll be another six to seven months before
he‘s born. It won‘t be too late if we were to prepare these before I‘m about to give birth to him.”
Sizing up her rather flat stomach, Tiffany questioned, “Are you sure you want to wait until he‘s seven or
eight months when your stomach is too big to shop?” (Daily latest update www.m.techkaushal.com)
An image emerged in Amelia‘s head of her large stomach, and she gave in. I‘ll definitely be terribly ugly.
“You think your big stomach will be embarrassing too, right? So hurry up, and let‘s go. We have to buy all
kinds of toys. We‘ll buy double for the baby‘s clothes and toys. One set for my godson, and one set for
my goddaughter. Maybe you might give birth to a pair of twins after we buy them–one son and one
daughter. You get a package deal!” Amelia rambled on.
Meanwhile, Amelia‘s jaw was hanging slack. Is that why she‘s a novelist? Her mind functions differently
from an ordinary person‘s. She‘s even more enthusiastic about the preparations for the baby than me,
the mother of the baby.
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