Chapter 4: The Call He Didn't Want Me to Hear
Daniel moved toward the counter.
"Don't," I said.
He stopped.
The phone buzzed again.
Then again.
Then it went to voicemail.
Ten seconds later, a text appeared on the screen.
Even from across the room I could read the first line of the preview.
*He's asking for you.
He keeps saying—*
The screen went dark before I could finish reading it.
"She has your number," I said.
"She texts you."
"It's about Noah.
It's only ever about Noah."
"How often?"
He picked up the phone and turned it face-down.
"How often, Daniel?"
"A few times a month."
I sat down on the couch.
Not because I wanted to sit.
Because my legs made the decision before I did.
"A few times a month," I said.
"For three years."
"It's logistics.
Scheduling.
She sends photos sometimes—"
"Photos."
"He's my son." His voice tightened.
"I can't pretend he doesn't exist."
"I'm not asking you to pretend he doesn't exist." I looked up at him.
"I'm telling you that I didn't know he existed.
I'm telling you that I have been living in a marriage where my husband had a separate family and I had no idea.
I'm telling you that I am seven months pregnant and I just found out at my own gender reveal party."
He sat down in the chair across from me.
He leaned forward with his elbows on his knees.
"I know," he said quietly.
"I know how this looks."
"It doesn't look like anything.
It is what it is."
"I love you.
I have always loved you.
What happened with Cara was before us—"
"Noah is not before us.
Noah is three years old.
We have been married for two and a half years.
You have been paying child support, receiving photos, taking calls, for the entire length of our marriage." I pressed my hand flat against my stomach.
"This baby is not before us either."
He was quiet.
"Did you ever think about telling me?"
"Every day."
"And every day you chose not to."
"I was scared."
"Of what?"
"Of losing you."
I looked at him for a long moment.
The man I had married.
The man who had held my hand in the delivery room waiting area three weeks ago when we thought I was going into early labor.
The man who had painted the nursery ceiling pale yellow because I said I didn't want it white.
"You should have been more scared of this," I said.
His phone buzzed again on the counter.
Neither of us moved.
Then the doorbell rang.
Daniel frowned.
"Who—"
I stood up and walked to the door.
I opened it.
A woman was standing on the porch.
Dark coat.
Dark hair pulled back.
A small boy on her hip, his cheek pressed against her shoulder, already half asleep.
She looked at me.
I looked at her.
"You must be his wife," she said.
May you like
"I'm Cara.
I think it's time we talked."
