Chapter 4: What Melissa Never Said
The nurse came back in to check on the baby.
She took one look at the three of us and left again without speaking.
I don't blame her.
Ryan hadn't moved from the window.
Melissa hadn't moved from the bed.
I was standing between them holding a newborn who had just become the center of something I still didn't fully understand.
"Say it," Ryan said.
His voice was quiet.
That particular kind of quiet that is much worse than shouting.
"Whatever it is, just say it."
Melissa pressed her hands flat against her thighs.
"It was one time," she said.
Ryan's chin dropped slightly.
Just slightly.
"It was two years ago," she continued.
"We were at a work event.
I had too much to drink.
It didn't mean anything.
I ended it immediately and I never spoke to him again after that."
"He's my cousin," Ryan said.
"I know."
"He sat at our dinner table.
At Christmas.
He came to our wedding anniversary."
"I know, Ryan."
"You let me invite him into our home."
"I know." Her voice cracked on the second word.
"I know.
I'm sorry.
I have been sorry every single day since it happened and I didn't know how to tell you and then we started trying for a baby and I thought—" She stopped.
Pressed her fingers to her lips.
"I thought it was behind us.
I thought it was over."
"It wasn't over," I said.
Both of them looked at me.
I hadn't meant to speak out loud.
But I kept going, because someone had to.
"The clinic used Ryan's sample," I said.
"That's what we all agreed to.
That's what the paperwork said.
But if the timing was—" I stopped.
Looked at Melissa.
"When exactly was the work event?"
She told me the month.
I did the math in my head.
Then I did it again.
"Melissa," I said.
"That was right before we started the IVF process.
Right before the retrieval."
She closed her eyes.
"The clinic confirmed the sample," Ryan said.
But his voice had gone uncertain.
"They confirmed it was mine."
"They confirmed a sample," I said.
"We assumed it was yours."
The silence that followed was the longest of my life.
Ryan walked to the chair in the corner and sat down.
He put his elbows on his knees and his face in his hands.
He stayed like that for a long time.
The baby shifted in my arms.
She made the small searching sound that newborns make, the one that means nothing and everything at the same time.
I looked down at her face.
She had Ryan's nose.
Or what I had always thought was Ryan's nose.
Now I wasn't sure what I was seeing.
"We need a paternity test," I said.
"Yes," Ryan said, from behind his hands.
"And we need to talk to the clinic."
"Yes."
"And someone needs to call Danny back."
Ryan lifted his face.
His eyes were dry but red at the edges.
"I'll handle Danny," he said.
"Ryan—"
"I said I'll handle it." He stood up.
Looked at Melissa.
"I can't be in this room right now.
I need—" He stopped.
Looked at the baby one more time.
"I need some air."
He walked out.
Melissa and I sat in the room together.
The door swung shut behind him.
After a moment she said, very quietly: "Are you going to hate me?"
I looked at the baby in my arms.
At her small closed fists.
At the birthmark on her back that had cracked everything open.
"I don't know yet," I said.
It was the most honest thing I could give her.
Then my phone buzzed on the bedside table.
A text from a number I didn't recognize.
*We need to talk.
Not Ryan.
Not Melissa.
Just you.
May you like
I can explain everything.
— Danny*
