Chapter 3

The next day, a nurse came in to fill out the medical history form for the miscarriage.

After asking me a few questions, she turned to Sean.

"Is there any genetic history of illness on the paternal side?"

Sean thought about it, then asked, "If the father is someone else, do we need to contact him for his history?"

The room went dead silent.

The nurse looked back and forth between us.

I grabbed the medical clipboard from the bedside table and threw it straight at his chest. Papers scattered all over the floor.

"The baby is dead, Sean! Who are you trying to call to identify the body?!"

Sean's face went white. "I just want to know why we couldn't save it."

"You won't even admit it was yours! Why do you care why it died?!"

He knelt down, picking up the loose papers one by one.

The last page was wet from spilled water. Sean used his sleeve to gently wipe it dry.

"Because you were the one carrying it."

The nurse didn't ask any more questions. She gathered her things and quickly left.

Sean neatly clipped the papers back together and placed the board on a high shelf, far out of my reach.

"Take your anger out on me. Just don't hurt yourself."

I looked at the red scratch on his hand from where the clipboard had hit him. It felt incredibly surreal.

In the afternoon, Rachel sent him what she claimed was the "full explanation." It was still just raw lab data.

I asked him, "I thought you were going to the clinic yourself?"

"The attending doctor is out until next week. Rachel sent over the digital copy of the paper release."

"You believe everything she says."

"She's been working in the urology and fertility clinic for eight years."

"I'm your wife."

Sean frowned. "Why are you comparing those two things?"

"I'd like to know too."

I stared at him. "Just because she works in a fertility clinic, she tells you I cheated, and you believe her over me?"

"She never said you cheated."

"Then what are you doing right now?"

He avoided my gaze and flipped to my ultrasound report. "The ultrasound says seven weeks. Seven weeks ago, I was out of town in Chicago."

I froze. "You think 'seven weeks and two days' means we conceived exactly seven weeks ago?"

"Doesn't it?"

"It's calculated from the first day of my last period, Sean. Not the actual day we had sex."

"Rachel said the ultrasound machine can have a margin of error."

He pulled up the calendar from two months ago. "Then you tell me. Which days was I home, and which days was I on the night shift?"

"Are you interrogating me?"

"I just want the dates to make sense."

"And once they do?"

"Then I'll stop asking."

I snatched his phone and locked the screen. "You know exactly what time I go to work and what time I get home every single day. Now you want me to account for every hour of my life just to prove I didn't sleep with someone else?"

"I didn't say that."

"But that's exactly what you're doing."

Sean was silent for a moment before taking his phone back.

"If you don't want to talk, we'll just wait for the lab results."

That night, my fever spiked to 101 degrees, and my surgical wound got slightly infected.

Sean didn't sleep a wink. Around dawn, when I was shivering violently, he tucked my freezing hands inside his shirt against his warm chest.

"Shh, go to sleep. I'm right here."

Delirious with fever, I leaned into him.

I had leaned into this chest for six years.

Back when he only made $4,000 a month, he handed his entire bank card over to me. When we were struggling to conceive, he was the one who stood up to his mother's constant nagging.

I used to be so sure that even if the whole world doubted me, Sean would stand by my side.

But as I lay against his chest, I heard his phone buzz. He was replying to Rachel.

She says the gestational age is calculated differently. It should be pushed back two weeks.

Rachel replied almost instantly: Ultrasounds have errors. She can spin it however she wants right now. Just wait for the DNA test.

I woke up completely.

I sat up, pulling away from his warmth. He touched my forehead.

"Still cold?"

"No."

"Go back to sleep then."

I turned my back to him, facing the cold wall.

When I was discharged the next morning, Sean wrapped my scarf gently around my neck. He held my hand the entire drive home.

I looked out the window.

I didn't pull my hand away, but I didn't hold it back either.