He stared at me for a long moment.
“Come home.”
“No.”
“I will move to the guest room.”
“No.”
“We can sell the place.”
“No.”
“I will end the relationship with Aubrey completely.”
“You already ended it the moment my pregnancy gave you a better story.”
His face twisted.
“That is not fair.”
I almost admired his loyalty to the phrase.
He had used it whenever fairness threatened to examine him too closely.
“You are going to be a father to two children,” I said.
“You should begin learning that consequences are not persecution.”
He looked toward my stomach.
“Can I at least see the ultrasound?”
Every instinct told me to refuse.
Then I remembered that my child would one day ask what happened.
I wanted to be able to say that I had protected myself without using the baby as a weapon.
I opened my handbag and removed a copy of the image.
Grant took it with both hands.
His anger disappeared.
For several seconds, he simply stared.
“That’s the baby?”
“Yes.”
“So small.”
“Six weeks.”
His thumb touched the edge of the photograph.
Tears filled his eyes.
“I missed it.”
“Yes.”
“I should have been there.”
