Chapter 9: The Results
Three weeks later, Mark got the call.
I was in the kitchen when he came downstairs.
I knew from his face before he said a word.
"It's not mine," he said.
I set down the glass I was holding.
"They're certain?"
"The clinic was certain.
She provided the sample.
The results are — it's not mine, Sarah."
I leaned against the counter.
Breathed.
"Did you talk to her?"
"She didn't answer.
I left a message." He stood in the middle of the kitchen, hands at his sides.
"I don't know if she knew.
I don't know if she lied deliberately or if she—"
"It doesn't matter," I said.
"It matters to me.
I want to understand—"
"Mark." I looked at him.
"It doesn't change what you did.
The baby being someone else's doesn't undo eight months.
It doesn't undo Florida.
It doesn't undo any of it."
"I know that."
"I just need you to know that I'm not relieved in the way that makes everything okay.
I'm relieved for one reason.
That child doesn't deserve to be born into the middle of this."
He nodded.
He looked hollowed out.
Like the last three weeks had taken something from him that hadn't grown back yet.
Good, part of me thought.
And then felt guilty for thinking it.
We'd had four sessions with the therapist by then.
Her name was Dr.
Anand.
She had a quiet, precise way of asking questions that made it impossible to hide behind vague answers.
Mark had cried in the second session.
Really cried.
Not the way he'd cried on the phone in Florida — that had been shock and panic.
This was something older.
Something that had been waiting.
Dr.
Anand had looked at me afterward and said, "How did that land for you?"
"I don't know yet," I'd said.
"That's an honest answer," she'd said.
"Hold onto it."
Now I looked at Mark across the kitchen.
"I want to keep going to Dr.
Anand," I said.
"So do I."
"And I want you to understand something." I straightened up.
"I'm still deciding.
The test result doesn't decide for me.
You understand?"
"Yes."
"I need to see who you are over time.
Not who you say you are.
Who you actually are.
Every day."
"I understand."
"And if you ever lie to me again—" I stopped.
"I won't give you a third conversation.
I'll just leave."
"I know." He met my eyes.
"I won't."
I picked up my glass.
Moved toward the sink.
"The kids want to go to the farmers market on Saturday," I said.
"Cody's been asking about the honey stand."
"I know.
He mentioned it four times yesterday."
"We'll all go," I said.
"Together."
Mark was quiet for a moment.
"Okay," he said softly.
"Together."
It wasn't forgiveness.
Not yet.
It was something smaller and more careful than that.
A single step onto uncertain ground, testing whether it would hold.
May you like
But it was a step.
And for now, that was enough.
