Chapter 3

Saturday morning, Harrison was already dressed when I came downstairs.

He was fastening his watch beside the kitchen counter.

“I have to go into the office for a few hours,” he said. “Something came up.”

I looked at him.

It was the weekend.

For most of our marriage, Harrison complained whenever work interrupted Saturday.

Now he was standing in front of me, calmly lying again.

“What happened?” I asked.

“Financing issue.”

He picked up his keys.

“I should be back by lunch.”

I nodded.

“Okay.”

He leaned down and kissed my forehead.

“Get some rest.”

I waited until the front door closed.

Then I went upstairs, got dressed, and drove to the hospital.

Sabrina had posted that morning.

Going home today.

I parked across from the maternity entrance and stayed inside the car.

I told myself I only wanted to know whether Harrison had lied.

But I already knew.

Twenty minutes later, the hospital doors opened.

A nurse pushed Sabrina outside in a wheelchair.

Harrison walked beside her.

He was holding the baby.

My hands tightened around the steering wheel.

Harrison had always said newborns made him nervous. Whenever friends handed him their babies, he held them stiffly and quickly gave them back.

Now he held the child with practiced ease, supporting the baby’s head and adjusting the blanket the moment he stirred.

His whole face softened.

For two years, I had imagined him looking at our baby that way.

I had never imagined watching him give that tenderness to another child first.

Sabrina stood carefully from the wheelchair.

Harrison moved toward her immediately.

“Slow down.”

“I’m fine.”

“You gave birth yesterday. You don’t get to decide you’re fine.”

She smiled.

Not like she was surprised by his concern.

Like she was used to it.

That was when something inside me finally went still.

This was not new.

The touching.

The worrying.

The way he automatically stepped closer when she needed him.

A black SUV stopped at the curb.

Sabrina reached for the baby.

Harrison shook his head.

“I’ve got our son. Just get in.”

Our son.

My hand moved over my stomach.

Seven weeks.

Yesterday, I had heard my baby’s heartbeat for the first time.

This morning, Harrison had kissed my forehead and told me he was going to work.

Now he was helping another woman into a car while holding the child they had made together.

He secured the baby into the car seat himself.

Then he climbed into the back beside Sabrina.

Before the door closed, she reached for his hand.

He let her take it.

I lifted my phone and took two photographs.

The SUV pulled away.

I watched until it disappeared.

Harrison had not gone to work.

He had gone to take his other family home.

And for the first time since I saw his name on that hospital record, I stopped wondering whether there was anything left to save.

There wasn’t.