Chapter 2

Three days later, Alexander brought Jessica into our home with two suitcases.

I was resting on the living-room sofa when the front door opened.

Alexander entered first, carrying her luggage.

Jessica followed in a walking boot, one hand resting lightly on his arm.

“What happened?” I asked.

“A washing-machine hose burst in the apartment above hers,” Alexander said. “Water came through her bedroom ceiling.”

“The building manager offered me a hotel,” Jessica added quickly. “But enclosed rooms make my panic attacks worse.”

“I told her she could stay here,” Alexander said.

He said it as if the decision had already been made.

He had not asked me.

I looked at the two suitcases beside him.

“This is our home.”

“I know.”

“Then you should have called me first.”

Jessica lowered her eyes.

“I’m sorry, Camille. I can leave. I don’t want to cause problems between you two.”

Her words were soft.

Her suitcases were already inside.

Alexander’s expression hardened.

“She’s injured, her apartment is flooded, and you’re worried about a phone call?”

“She has a hotel.”

“She just told you why she can’t stay there.”

I looked at him.

Not Jessica.

Him.

Some part of me was still waiting for him to realize what he had done.

To say he was sorry.

To tell her they would find another solution.

He didn’t.

Four months ago, when I was still working, he had told me I was doing too much.

He had said he wanted me to let him take care of me.

Now I was nine months pregnant, and somehow I was the difficult one for asking where his guest would sleep.

“She can have the guest room.”

Alexander glanced at Jessica’s walking boot.

“She can’t manage the stairs.”

“Neither can I.”

His eyes dropped to my stomach.

“You can still walk.”

I felt something tighten in my chest.

“My doctor told me to avoid unnecessary stairs.”

“It’s one flight, Camille. Jessica has an actual injury.”

I stared at him.

For months, I had been carrying our daughter while my back ached, my ankles swelled, and even getting out of bed sometimes took both hands.

Apparently, none of that counted as an injury.

Not when someone else needed him more.

Alexander picked up Jessica’s larger suitcase.

“I’ll put her in the primary bedroom. It has a private bathroom.”

Our bedroom.

The room where I had folded tiny baby clothes into the dresser.

The room where we had once talked about what we would name our baby.

The room where I had believed we were about to become a family.

I swallowed.

“Where am I supposed to sleep?”

“I’ll bring your things upstairs.”

He walked away before I could answer.

Jessica sat on the edge of our bed while Alexander arranged pillows behind her back.

He brought her water.

Painkillers. An ice pack. Small things. Careful things.

The kind of things I had stopped asking for because asking had become more humiliating than doing everything myself.

Then Jessica looked toward the bathroom.

“Do you still keep the extra towels in the cabinet under the sink?”

I froze.

She had never stayed in our home before.

She should not have known.

Alexander opened the cabinet without even looking at her.

“Right here.”

I said nothing.

I packed my medication, identification, prenatal records, charger and several changes of clothes into my hospital bag.

Then I carried everything upstairs.

The guest room smelled of dust.

The mattress sagged in the center.

The bathroom was at the opposite end of the hallway.

I took out my phone and photographed the room.

The dusty nightstand.

The unused bed.

The long hallway between me and the bathroom.

Then I photographed the narrow staircase I had been ordered to climb while nine months pregnant.

I sent the pictures to Claire.

This is where he moved me three days before my due date.

Her reply came seconds later.

Save everything.

I placed the hospital bag beside the guest-room door.

Then I returned downstairs for my pillow.

Before I reached the bedroom, I heard Jessica laughing behind the closed door.

Alexander laughed with her.

I waited.

For one foolish second, I expected him to open the door.

To remember I was upstairs without a pillow.

To remember that our baby could be born at any moment.

The door remained closed.

I went back upstairs alone.

My phone vibrated as I sat on the edge of the sagging bed.

An email from Claire had arrived.

DRAFT DIVORCE PETITION AND PROPOSED SEPARATION AGREEMENT — REVIEW REQUIRED

I opened the attachment.

Claire had entered our names, property information and the date of our marriage.

The section concerning our child remained incomplete.

To be updated after birth.

At the bottom of the final page was a button:

AUTHORIZE FILING AFTER BIRTH

I placed my thumb over it.

But I did not press it.