“You feel sorry for me.”
“No.”
“You think I need you.”
“That is not what I think.”
“You said no secrets.”
“I know.”
“You made a secret.”
She looked at me.
“Did you know?”
I could not lie.
“I found out a few days ago.”
Clara’s breathing quickened.
“Everyone knows except me.”
“No,” Ethan said. “That isn’t true.”
“You talked about me.”
“Clara, listen to me.”
“I am listening.”
“You are upset. We should sit down.”
Her face tightened.
“Do not talk to me like I am a child.”
Ethan froze.
She took one step backward.
Then she gasped.
Her hand moved to her stomach.
A dark wet stain spread across the front of her trousers.
“Ethan,” she whispered.
He dropped the cleaning cloth.
Clara looked terrified.
“The baby.”
At Saint Orison Medical Institute, doctors discovered a partial placental abruption.
The bleeding had stopped, but Clara would need to remain under observation. At twenty-six weeks, the baby was far too early to be born.
Ethan stayed beside her bed.
Clara turned her face toward the wall.
He did not touch her.
He simply sat there.
My parents arrived before dawn.
My mother carried a bag with clothes and toiletries. My father looked older than he had the week before.
I showed them the article about Dr. Vale.
My mother sat down after reading the surgeon’s name.
“Adrian Vale,” she whispered.
“You remember him?”
“Of course.”
My father took the article.
His hands trembled.
“That man saved Ethan.”
“Did you know he had a daughter with Down syndrome?” I asked.
My mother closed her eyes.
“His wife was pregnant during Ethan’s recovery. He said tests showed the baby might have Down syndrome.”
She looked through the hospital window at Clara.
“That baby was Clara.”
My father lowered himself into a chair.
“I offered him money,” he said. “Everything we had.”
“What did he say?”
“He told me to go home and raise my son.”
My father stared at the floor.
“He said Ethan’s life did not belong to him. It belonged to Ethan.”
A nurse entered the hallway.
“Clara would like to see Natalie.”
Ethan stood.
“She asked to speak to you alone.”
He walked past me without meeting my eyes.
Clara lay beneath a white blanket, one hand resting over her stomach.
“The baby is still inside,” she said.
“Yes.”
“The doctor said her heart is strong.”
“That’s good.”
Clara nodded.
Then she began crying.
“I thought she was coming out.”
I sat beside the bed.
“You were very scared.”
“Yes.”
She wiped her eyes with the back of her hand.
“Ethan cried in the bathroom.”
I looked toward the door.
“How do you know?”
“I heard him.”
She became quiet again.
After a minute, she said, “The baby’s father is Julian.”
I waited.
“He worked at the art center.”
“Was he your boyfriend?”
“Yes.”
“How long?”
“Eight months.”
“What happened when you became pregnant?”
“He got angry.”
“Did he hurt you?”
“Not with his hands.”
She pointed at her chest.
