Chapter 3

As we reached the front steps of our apartment building, our downstairs neighbor stopped me.

She warmly took my hands. "Oh, honey, may God bless you and your family. Thank you so much for your generosity."

Only then did I discover that Dylan had given away the nursery crib and baby clothes I had bought to our pregnant neighbor downstairs.

"Why did you do that?"

The moment the front door closed, I turned on Dylan, demanding an answer.

"I didn't want you to see them and be reminded of the pain," he said softly. "Besides... weren't we planning on being childfree anyway?"

I stood in the doorway of the completely emptied guest room, my voice trembling.

"Where is the ultrasound printout?"

He paused. "Victoria took it to verify the gestational markers and chromosomal data."

I turned my face away, tears burning behind my eyes. "That was the only proof that my baby ever existed."

"Once the final report comes back, I'll get it back from her."

"Dylan, I honestly don't understand," I whispered. "What result are you hoping for? We're getting a divorce either way."

Dylan fell silent for a moment before muttering, "Keeping that ultrasound will only make you hurt more. Let it go."

Looking around our familiar yet suddenly foreign apartment, a wave of hollow irony swept over me.

As a mother, even my right to grieve my child was put on hold until my husband could confirm whether the child was biologically his.

For the next two days, Dylan took time off work to stay home with me.

He cooked every meal. At night, he applied warm compresses to my aching abdomen.

When I had no appetite, he would patiently make another dish from scratch.

Whenever I woke up groaning in pain in the middle of the night, the bedside lamp would click on, and he would already be rushing in from the living room.

"Hurting again?"

I would nod silently.

Dylan would pull me gently against his shoulder, keeping his warm palm pressed against my lower belly, taking care of me just as he always had.

For a fleeting, foolish moment, my resolve to divorce him wavered.

Then came the next morning.

On the kitchen counter lay a hand-drawn timeline.

It was a meticulously mapped calendar: my last period, the dates we had been intimate, the shifts he worked late at the clinic, the days he was traveling.

He had circled potential conception windows in red ink, noting the exact spans where he was out of town and we hadn't slept together.

I walked into the kitchen clutching the sheet of paper, demanding to know what it was.

Dylan glanced at it, his hand freezing as he reached for a loaf of bread.

"No matter how many times I calculate the dates, they don't align."

"So?"

"Just tell me who the father is, Nora."

"I've told you a hundred times, clinical gestational dating does not match the exact day of intercourse!"

He dropped the bread on the counter, looking exhausted. "Is it really that hard to be honest with me? I've been trying so hard to convince myself that the baby might be mine, but the timeline mathematically doesn't work!"

"What do you want me to confess to?!" I shouted, my voice cracking. "Do you want me to invent a nonexistent man and admit to sleeping with him?!"

"You've already decided on your verdict, so what do you want from me?!"

"Every lab metric and every date I calculate tells me it wasn't mine!" Dylan said, his voice laced with defeat.

"If your precious reports give you all the answers, why are you asking me?!"

He froze.

I yanked my hand back.

At that exact moment, the front door clicked open. Victoria walked in, carrying a manila folder.

"Why do you have a key to our home?" I demanded, turning toward her.

Victoria paused, raising an eyebrow. "Dylan gave it to me. I was helping him run errands while you were in the hospital, and it was easier this way."

Dylan walked out of the kitchen, looking tense. "Just leave the documents on the counter, Victoria. You should go."

Victoria ignored him, picking up the timeline paper from the island. "What's the point of obsessing over dates? Just wait for the paternity analysis and the genetic review."

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

Victoria straightened up, her expression hardening. "Why are you snapping at me, Nora? It's not like I'm the one who got pregnant."

"Haven't you been pushing for this test from the very start? Flooding Dylan with cropped data before the lab even finished its run?" I stared her down. "You've been dying to prove this baby wasn't his."

Victoria dropped the folder heavily onto the island.

"Nora, Dylan has been more than patient with you. He's medically sterile, yet you end up pregnant! Even after you lost it, he's been nursing you hand and foot!"

"So what, I'm supposed to get on my knees and thank him?"