Chapter 2

The next day, someone from pathology came to collect family medical history for the miscarriage screening.

After finishing with me, the doctor turned to Ethan.

"Any hereditary conditions on the father's side?"

Ethan thought for a moment. "If the father is someone else, would you need to contact him directly?"

The room went dead silent.

The doctor looked at him, then at me.

I grabbed the medical chart and hurled it at him. Pages scattered across the floor.

"The baby is gone. Who exactly are you trying to bring in to claim it?"

Ethan went white.

"I just wanted to know why we lost it."

"You won't even admit it's yours, and now you care why it's gone?"

He crouched down, picking up the pages one by one. The last sheet had gotten wet. He wiped it dry with his cuff.

"Because you were the one carrying it."

The doctor didn't ask any more questions. He gathered his materials and left.

Ethan clipped the chart back together and set it somewhere I couldn't reach.

"If you need to be angry, take it out on me. Don't hurt yourself."

I stared at the red mark on the back of his hand where the chart had struck him. All I felt was how absurd this was.

That afternoon, Megan sent over what she called the full explanation. It still contained nothing but test data.

I asked Ethan, "Didn't you say you'd go pick it up yourself?"

"The clinic doctor won't be back until next week. Megan photographed the paper report for me."

"You believe everything she says."

"She's worked in reproductive medicine for eight years."

"I'm your wife."

Ethan frowned. "Why are you comparing those two things?"

"I'd like to know that too." I stared at him. "Why does the fact that she works in reproductive medicine mean you believe her when she implies I cheated?"

"She never said you cheated."

"Then what exactly are you investigating right now?"

He looked away and flipped to my ultrasound report. "It says seven weeks here. That week I was out of town on business."

I froze.

"You think seven weeks and two days means I conceived seven weeks ago?"

"Doesn't it?"

"Gestational age is counted from the first day of the last period. Not from when we had sex."

"Megan said ultrasounds have a margin of error too."

He pulled up the calendar from two months ago.

"Then tell me—which days was I home and which days was I on night shifts?"

"Are you interrogating me?"

"I just want the dates to line up."

"And then what?"

"Then I'll stop asking."

I snatched his phone and turned off the screen. "You know exactly what time I leave for work and what time I come home every day. And now you want me to account for every single day, to prove I haven't slept with someone else?"

"I didn't say that."

"It's exactly what you're doing."

Ethan was quiet for a moment, then put his phone away.

"If you don't want to talk about it, we'll wait for the results."

My fever hit thirty-eight degrees. The surgical wound was showing signs of infection.

Ethan didn't sleep all night. In the small hours, when I was shaking with cold, he tucked my hands inside his shirt to warm them.

"Sleep. I'm here."

I was delirious with fever. I leaned into his arms.

I had leaned into those arms for six years.

When he wasn't making much money, he'd handed his bank account over for me to manage. When trying to conceive went nowhere month after month, he was the one who shielded me from his mother's questions.

I had been so certain—even if the whole world doubted me, Ethan would stand on my side.

But as I rested against his chest, I heard him texting Megan.

"She says the gestational age should be pushed back two weeks."

Megan replied almost instantly.

"Ultrasounds have margins of error. She can spin it however she wants now. Just wait for the test."

I was wide awake.

I sat up and pulled away from him.

He touched my forehead. "Still cold?"

"No."

"Then get some more sleep."

I turned to face the wall.

After dawn, I was discharged. Ethan wrapped my scarf for me. On the drive home, he held my hand the whole way.

I watched the city slide past the window. I didn't pull away, but I didn't hold his hand back either.