Chapter 2

For the first two weeks back in New York, Alexander was cautious to the point of being deliberate.

He took over every household chore. He came home exactly on time. He reported who he met and when he'd be back without me ever asking.

He even bought a massive stack of pregnancy and parenting books.

At night, he would sit by the edge of the bed, resting one hand gently on my still-flat stomach, reading aloud in a low voice.

"Our baby is going to be surrounded by so much love."

The light had returned to his eyes, just like years ago when he promised to give me a home of our own.

But this peace was never meant to last.

His work phone started ringing. Again and again. Every call flashed the same caller ID: Crisis Intervention Hotline.

He would glance at it, decline the call, and archive the number.

"It's Sophie. The on-call pager keeps routing her to me. She's refusing the transfer."

That was his excuse.

But the fleeting look on his face couldn't fool me.

Soon after, the triage nurse forwarded a patient message.

"Dr. Wright, I know I shouldn't bother you. But since you dropped my case, my world has gone completely gray."

He replied right in front of me: Please follow protocol and contact your current attending.

But his thumb hovered over the send button for a long time.

At my next prenatal checkup, the baby's vitals were perfectly normal. I was genuinely happy for this child.

As we walked out of the hospital, I looped my arm through Alexander's.

Right then, his phone rang. It was Dr. Morgan.

"Alexander, sorry to pull you in. Sophie is actively resisting treatment. She keeps bringing up past traumas she claims she only disclosed to you. I need you to walk me through her history."

Alexander stepped aside, lowering his voice. When he came back, his face was grim.

"Work?" I asked.

My grip on his arm loosened slightly. The smile that had just reached my lips slowly faded.

"Yeah. A complication with a case."

He reached out to hug me, but the embrace was stiff and perfunctory.

That night, I woke up thirsty. The space beside me in bed was empty.

A faint glow from a phone screen spilled into the living room.

I walked out and saw him sitting on the couch, staring at the screen.

It was the hospital's encrypted patient portal. Ten minutes ago, Sophie had left a message:

"If your care was a lie from the start, what was the point of anything you ever did?"

He was so engrossed he didn't even notice me standing a few feet away.

In a daze, I remembered a terrible night years ago. I had been violently ill, throwing up for hours. He had stayed awake the entire night, watching over me until dawn.

Now, he was losing sleep over another woman's pain.

He sat in the blue light of the screen all night.

And I stood in the darkness of the hallway, making no sound.