Chapter 4

Ethan reached for Vanessa, but she stepped away.

"Not here," he said.

Vanessa gave a short, disbelieving laugh. "You keep saying that whenever I ask you to choose."

Oliver began to cry. She rocked him against her shoulder, but her eyes remained fixed on the compass in my hand.

"Give me that."

I opened my fingers.

Vanessa snatched the compass, looked at the inscription again, then shoved it against my chest. Its metal edge struck my collarbone.

"Take it," she said. "My son doesn't need anything from your marriage."

The room had gone quiet enough for me to hear Oliver's broken breaths.

Ethan moved beside her. "Vanessa, let me take him."

She turned her body away. "Tell Claire where you're sleeping tonight."

His gaze flicked toward the phones still recording.

"This isn't a choice I'm making in front of an audience."

"Then make it without one."

Vanessa walked toward the exit with Oliver. Ethan hesitated for less than a second before following her.

At the door, he looked back at me.

"Go home, Claire. I'll come by when you've calmed down."

The compass dug into my palm.

He still believed our house would be waiting for him.

The ferry docked eighteen minutes later.

I stepped onto the pier with Sophie on the phone. Salt had dried tight across my lips, and my knees shook whenever I stopped moving.

"The guest by the windows posted the whole confrontation," she said. "I saved the video before anyone could take it down."

My phone vibrated before I could answer.

Ethan had posted a statement.

Claire and I have lived separate lives for more than a year. She was aware of my son, but recent personal and medical stress made tonight difficult for her. I hope everyone will respect the privacy of both families while we complete a transition that began long ago.

Both families.

He had placed me in one of them only so he could remove me politely.

Comments were already appearing beneath the post.

So sorry you are going through this.

Protect that baby.

She clearly needs help.

My thumb hovered over the reply box.

"Don't write angry," Sophie said. "Write true."

I opened the video she had sent me. The forty-three-second section began with my question.

Was it before or after the appointment three weeks ago?

Then Ethan's answer came through clearly.

I kept going to appointments because leaving you in the middle of treatment would have been cruel. Don't turn compassion into a marriage.

I cut nothing before or after the exchange. I posted the full forty-three seconds with one line.

A man separated from his wife for a year does not attend a fertility appointment with her three weeks ago.

The response changed almost immediately.

One guest wrote that she had heard Ethan's admission herself. Another asked why he claimed I knew about Oliver when Vanessa had clearly believed I had stopped treatment.

Then Ethan's original statement disappeared.

For one breath, relief loosened something beneath my ribs.

My phone vibrated again.

This time, the message came directly from him. An audio file sat above a single line of text.

I pressed it before I understood what it was.

My own voice filled the cold space beside the pier.

"Please come home," I heard myself sob. "I can't do this alone."

I knew the night immediately. I had called Ethan from behind the locked bathroom door, and his phone had sent me to voicemail while blood soaked through the towel between my legs. We had told no one about the pregnancy.

The recording ended.

Another message appeared.

Delete your video, or I post mine.