Chapter 2
The next day was Saturday. Henry left early, saying he had something at the office. I didn't ask.
Sharon called. She wanted to come by for a drink.
"Sure," I said.
At ten sharp, the doorbell rang.
She stood in the doorway in her dark red cashmere coat, a bottle of cheap white wine in one hand. The second she stepped inside, her eyes swept the room. "You really need to mop this floor."
"Sure," I said, taking the bottle from her.
She settled onto the couch. I poured us both a glass.
"Natalie." She lifted her glass. "Have you thought about what I said yesterday?"
I sat down across from her. "What exactly do you want me to think about?"
She let out a sigh. "You've been married to Henry for five years. Five years, and not a single child for this family. Henry... he couldn't help himself."
"Couldn't help himself," I repeated.
"Men need an heir," she said, setting the glass down. "Don't blame Henry. Blame your own body for not cooperating."
I said nothing.
She went on, "Twins, you know. A boy and a girl. That's something."
"Yeah," I said. "Great."
"If you can just accept it, we can all move past this." She watched me. "The children are here. What's done is done. Treat Henry well. He'll treat you well."
"Sharon," I said. "When did you find out about Henry's kids?"
She paused, caught off guard. "What are you talking about?"
"The twins. When?"
She looked away. "I only found out recently."
"How recently?"
"What is this, an interrogation?" Irritation crept into her voice.
"I just want to know," I said, looking straight at her.
She stood up. "We've had our drink. Everything's been said. Just think it over."
She walked to the door and bent down for her shoes.
I followed.
Her phone buzzed. She glanced at the screen and swiped the notification away fast.
But I caught the lock screen message.
The contact read, "Nessa."
Nessa: [Kids want your ribs again.]
My heart stopped.
"Sharon. Who was that from?"
"Nobody," she said, not looking back, and walked out.
The door closed behind her.
I stood there, frozen, for what felt like forever.
Sharon had that woman's number saved in her phone.
I went back to the bedroom, opened the closet, and pulled out the stack of medical reports I'd hidden away at the very bottom.
I'd been getting tested for five years.
The first year, my periods were a mess. I spent half a year on medication.
The second year, a hysterosalpingography, the pain left me shaking all over.
The third year, a hysteroscopy had me stuck in the hospital for three days.
The fourth year, for the pre-IVF screening, they took seventeen vials of blood.
By the fifth year, the doctor said we could give IVF a shot, but the chances weren't good. So I booked an appointment for next month.
Every single test, I went alone.
Henry kept saying he was busy. Sharon kept telling me to relax. My father-in-law, Gary Carter, kept saying to let nature take its course.
I believed them.
But those twins were already a year old.
Two years ago, while I was choking down that awful black sludge, she was already expecting Henry's kids.
Three years ago, when I was recovering from a hysteroscopy, she was probably just starting to get close to Henry.
I laid out each hospital report across the bed, like I was counting up the cost of everything I'd been through.
Five years. Forty-three appointments. Six procedures. And every nasty thing Sharon told me to drink.
I wasn't the problem.
The real issue was never me.
I grabbed my phone and opened Sharon's Facebook page.
She'd set it to show only the last three days.
I went into her photos and started scrolling back, one by one.
Nothing. Not a trace.
Then I checked Emily's page.
Same thing. Only the last three days visible.
I leaned back against the headboard and shut my eyes.
I couldn't shake the image of that photo Henry posted in the family group chat. Two toddlers, cute as dolls, dressed in matching blue overalls.
Just turned one.
Did they call Henry "Dad"?
Did they call that woman "Mom"?
Do they call Sharon "Grandma"?
Grandma.
I stared up at the ceiling.
After a long while, I got up and went to the study.
On the top shelf sat a metal lockbox, the place I kept all my important papers.
I pulled it down and opened it.
Inside were my diploma, my law license, and the deed to a house I bought before I got married. It was back in my hometown, still not sold.
There was also a bank card for an account in my name alone.
I took out the card and looked at it.
During the five years, every month, a chunk of my pay went into this account.
Henry never knew about it. His parents always assumed I didn't have much.
I opened my banking app and checked the balance.
Almost three hundred thousand dollars.
I closed the app and put the card back inside the lockbox.
Outside the window, night had fallen.