A pink blanket.
Then something tiny moved beneath it.
My heart began pounding.
“James.”
He came toward me.
“I need you to sit down.”
“Tell me why I’m here.”
“Please sit.”
“No.”
I couldn’t have sat if I wanted to.
My legs felt frozen.
James looked down at the floor.
“There’s something I have to ask you,” he said. “But I need you to hear everything first.”
And that was when my mind went somewhere terrible.
I’m not proud of it.
But standing outside a maternity room while my husband looked as though his entire world had changed, I thought the most obvious thing.
The baby was his.
Maybe there had been another woman.
Maybe the tears were guilt.
Maybe my ordinary Tuesday afternoon was about to become the day I discovered my marriage had been a lie.
I looked through the glass again.
Tiny hand.
Pink blanket.
Newborn baby girl.
My stomach twisted.
“Is she yours?”
James’s head snapped up.
“What?”
“The baby.”
His face changed from grief to complete shock.
“Is she yours?”
“No.”
The answer came so quickly I almost believed him before he finished speaking.
“No. God, no.”
“Then why are you here?”
He rubbed both hands over his face.
Then he asked a question I never expected.
“Do you remember Anna?”
The name reached backward through our marriage.
Anna.
I had heard it perhaps twice.
She had been James’s first serious love.
Before me.
Before our children.
They had been twenty-two and convinced they already understood what the rest of their lives would look like.
They had talked about marriage.
Children.
A house.
Then they grew apart.
Anna eventually married someone else.
Years later, James met me.
That was the entire story as I knew it.
“I remember,” I said.
James looked directly at me.
“I haven’t spoken to her in eleven years.”
I said nothing.
“Not once,” he continued. “No calls. No messages. Nothing. I need you to believe that.”
A sick feeling returned to my stomach.
“Why are you telling me this?”
His eyes shifted toward the hospital room.
