Michael’s eyes flashed with panic.
Amber whispered, “Don’t.”
That single word told me everything.
I sat up straighter, ignoring the ache that ripped through my body.
“Tell me what?”
Michael rubbed both hands over his face.
“It’s not what you think.”
Rachel laughed bitterly. “That is always exactly what men say when it is worse than we think.”
I looked at Amber.
“You’re pregnant.”
Her hand moved instinctively toward her stomach.
There it was.
The tiniest movement.
The loudest confession.
My breath left me.
Michael closed his eyes.
Rachel whispered, “Oh my God.”
Amber lifted her chin.
“Yes,” she said. “I am.”
The nurse quietly took Lily from my trembling arms before I dropped her.
I felt suddenly hollow.
“How long?” I asked.
Michael said nothing.
Amber answered.
“Four months.”
Four months.
While I was decorating Lily’s nursery.
While Michael told me I was needy for asking him to attend birthing classes.
While I lay awake with swollen feet and heartburn, telling myself his distance was stress.
Four months.
I looked at my husband.
“Is it yours?”
Michael’s silence was answer enough.
Something inside me split cleanly in half.
Not loudly.
Not dramatically.
Just permanently.
Dr. Brooks stepped closer, concern in his eyes.
“Catherine, your blood pressure—”
“I’m fine.”
I was not fine.
But I was awake.
Michael finally spoke.
“I didn’t plan for this to happen.”
“No,” I said. “You only planned to miss my calls.”
Amber’s face twisted.
“You don’t understand what he’s been dealing with.”
I turned to her slowly.
“You’re standing in my hospital room, pregnant by my husband, after answering his phone while I was in labor, and you think I’m going to comfort you?”
She flushed.
Michael stepped between us.
“Amber, wait outside.”
She stared at him.
“What?”
“Wait outside.”
Her mouth opened.
For the first time, she looked uncertain.
Not because she was sorry.
Because she realized Michael was still trying to manage both women like calendar appointments.
She left, heels clicking sharply against the floor.
