Chapter 4

At 7:12 on Christmas morning, Noah's fever reached 103 degrees.

His small face was flushed, and he was breathing faster than normal. I called the nurse line again. After counting his breaths, the nurse told me not to wait for the pediatrician's office to open.

I needed to take him straight to the children's emergency room.

Ethan stood beside the bed. The moment he heard "go now," he reached for his coat.

"I'll start the car," he said.

For one moment, I almost believed that keeping last night's promise would be that simple for him.

When we came downstairs, Rachel and Sophie were already wearing their red plaid pajamas under their coats.

Three takeout coffee cups sat on the table. Rachel held my car keys.

"Maple House will only hold our table for fifteen minutes." She checked the time. "We have to leave by seven fifty."

Sophie looked at Noah in my arms. "Does my brother have to go to the hospital?"

"Yes," I said.

She turned to Ethan at once. "Dad, you should go with them. Mom can take me."

"It's all right." Ethan wound his scarf around his neck, his voice gentle as if he were reassuring both children. "Claire's mother lives nearby. She can drive them. I'll have breakfast with you and come to the hospital as soon as we are done."

Rachel did not tell him to stay.

She only said softly, "Sophie has been looking forward to this breakfast for so long. Maybe we can eat quickly?"

Ethan looked at me. "Have you called your mother?"

"Not yet. You promised last night that you would come with us."

"I know, but your mother can be here in fifteen minutes. It isn't as if a doctor will see you the moment you arrive. I'll show my face at breakfast and be at the hospital within an hour."

"The nurse said to go now."

"Then call your mother now." He paused and lowered his voice. "Don't make this ugly in front of Sophie."

Noah cried in my arms.

The excitement disappeared from Sophie's face, and she took half a step back.

I did not want her to believe any of this was her fault. I also did not need to explain the same thing for the twelfth time.

"Leave my keys," I said. "I'll drive Noah to the hospital."

Ethan glanced at the keys in Rachel's hand. "The car is already warm, and all their things are loaded. Your mother has a car seat, doesn't she?"

"My car seat is still in the garage because you removed it to make room for Rachel and never put it back."

"Which is why calling your mother will save the most time."

"Save time for whom?"

He was silent for two seconds. Then he opened the front door.

Cold air swept through the entryway. The five stockings over the fireplace swayed.

"Noah has you, and he has your mother," Ethan said. "Sophie needs both her mom and dad today."

I had heard that sentence in a dozen different forms.

When Rachel needed someone to fix her car, Noah had me.

When she needed Ethan to answer messages after midnight, I was an adult. I could understand.

When she needed to move into our house, it was only eleven days.

Now our son had a dangerous fever, and because he "had me," Ethan still did not believe Noah needed him.

"All right," I said.

Ethan seemed relieved. "I'll get there as soon as I can."

He had not understood me.

I was done teaching him how.

After the door closed, I called my mother. She said she would be there in ten minutes.

I placed the bag I had packed by the front door, then went upstairs for my laptop, our document box, and the blue blanket Noah always reached for.

I did not move furniture or empty drawers. Over the previous few days, I had already moved everything that mattered to my mother's house a little at a time.

Before I left, I placed my wedding ring on the insurance approval letter.

Beside it, I left the screenshot of Rachel's lock access and the messages between her and Ethan.

I did not write a letter.

Ethan had already written every explanation I needed.

When my mother arrived, the heat in her car was running full blast. She did not ask where Ethan was. She only took Noah so I could load the bag.

The spare car seat made a clean click as I fastened it. I had never found that sound so reassuring.

At the emergency room, the doctor confirmed that Noah had a viral infection. His lungs sounded clear for the moment, but we needed to monitor his breathing and feeding closely.

Sitting beside the examination table, I sent my attorney one word.

"File."

Forty minutes later, she replied that the petition had been submitted and service was underway.

Ethan sent three messages during that time.

The first read, "We're done with breakfast. Which hospital are you at?"

The second: "I'm going home to get Noah's insurance card."

Five minutes later, the third arrived.

"Claire, what is this?"

I did not answer.

After the doctor discharged Noah for home observation, my mother drove us directly to her house.

As we left the hospital parking lot, the smart-lock app sent me a notification.

Ethan had opened the front door.

His name lit up my phone a moment later.

I silenced the call and put the phone in my bag. Noah slept in the back seat beneath his blue blanket, perfectly still in the spare car seat.

Ethan had finally come home.

All that waited for him was my wedding ring, the insurance approval letter, and the lies he had written with his own hands.