Chapter 3

When we stepped into our house, I found the nursery completely emptied.

The crib we had assembled, the tiny onesies, and the baby bottles were all packed into cardboard boxes, stacked away in a far corner.

Ethan followed me in. "I didn't want you to be reminded of the pain, so I packed it away."

"Where is the ultrasound picture?"

He paused. "Chloe took it to review the gestational markers and genetic loci."

I spun around. "That was the only proof that our baby ever existed."

"Once the lab results are finalized, I'll get it back from her."

"Ethan, I genuinely don't understand. What kind of result are you actually hoping for?"

"We're getting a divorce anyway."

Ethan was quiet for a moment, not addressing the word 'divorce.' He merely muttered, "Keeping that photo around will only make you cry. Let it go."

I looked around the house that had suddenly turned so unfamiliar.

It was almost laughable.

Now, as the mother who carried that child, even my right to mourn was placed on hold—waiting for Ethan to verify whether the baby was worthy of his grief.

He stayed home from work to take care of me for two days.

He cooked every meal and placed warm compresses on my aching stomach every night.

When I couldn't stomach the food, he quietly went back to the kitchen to prepare something else.

Whenever I woke up groaning from the cramps at night, the bedside lamp would barely click on before he hurried in from the living room couch.

"Hurting again?"

I nodded weakly.

Ethan let me lean against his shoulder, his warm palm resting gently over my lower belly. "The doctor said the final reports will take a few more days."

His gentleness was intoxicating.

For brief seconds, I lost track of reality, wondering if the nightmare of the past few weeks was just a terrible hallucination.

I parted my lips, wanting to ask him if we could just throw those reports away.

If we could just pretend none of this happened and go back to how we were.

If he would just look me in the eye and say, I trust you, I would have let everything go.

But deep down, I knew. He didn't believe me.

The next morning, I found a hand-drawn timeline sitting on the dining table.

It charted my last period, his out-of-town trips, his night shifts, and every prenatal appointment.

Four specific days were circled in red. Two of them fell during his business trip.

Holding the paper, I walked into the kitchen.

Ethan was just turning off the stove.

"Did you draw this?"

He glanced at it, his movement ladling soup slowing down. "No matter how I calculate the dates, there's a gap of several days."

"And?"

"Just tell me exactly when you got pregnant."

"I told you, you cannot calculate ovulation and conception like this."

"Then explain it to me one more time!"

He set the ladle down with a sharp clatter. "Nora, I'm losing my mind here! You could clear all of this up with one simple explanation. Why do you have to be so stubborn?"

"I told you the baby was yours. Doesn't that count as an explanation?"

"I need specific dates!"

"I don't remember the exact day! We had sex multiple times that month!"

I ripped the timeline paper down the middle.

Ethan bent down to pick up the torn pieces, his tone dropping into an icy register. "The more defensive you act, the harder it is for me to trust you."

"I have already told you: the baby was yours."

"But the lab report says otherwise!"

"If you already have your precious report, why the hell are you asking me?!"

He froze.

I pulled my hand free from his grip and threw the torn scraps into the trash can.

Right at that moment, the doorbell rang.

Chloe stood on the porch holding a manila envelope. She kicked off her boots and smoothly slipped into a pair of grey guest slippers from the bottom rack.

A pair of slippers I had never seen before.

"Are those yours?"

Chloe paused mid-step, then slid her feet all the way in.

"I came by to drop off some paperwork while you were in the hospital. Ethan wasn't going to make me walk around barefoot, was he?"

Ethan stepped out of the kitchen. "Just give me the documents, Chloe. You should leave."

"I just came off a twelve-hour night shift and haven't even had a drop of water," she snapped. "Why are you two taking your marital drama out on me?"

She reached into the trash can, fishing out the torn pieces of the timeline. "What's the point of obsessing over dates anyway? Just wait for the DNA paternity test and the genetic review."

I snatched the paper back from her hand. "Who gave you permission to touch that?"

Chloe straightened up, her voice sharp. "Nora, why are you barking at me? I didn't fabricate the lab results, and I certainly didn't carry the baby."

"Then why is my ultrasound picture in your bag?"

"Ethan couldn't read the developmental markers. I offered to take a look for him."

"If he couldn't read them, he could have asked my OB-GYN."

"One of you is completely paranoid, and the other is too proud to explain anything! If I didn't step in, were you two just going to wait until you actually got divorced?"

She reached into her folder and pulled out the ultrasound printout.

One corner was creased with a harsh white fold. I took it gently, carefully trying to smooth out the paper.

"Nora, Ethan has been more than patient with you," Chloe said, crossing her arms. "Any other man who saw a paternal genetic mutation when his own blood was clean wouldn't have bothered taking care of you after surgery."

"Oh, so I'm supposed to thank him?"