Chapter 4

When we got home, I realized the nursery had been completely cleared out.

The crib, the baby clothes, and the bottles were all packed into cardboard boxes, stacked in the corner.

Sean followed me in. "I didn't want you to look at them and get sad, so I packed them up."

"Where is the ultrasound photo?"

He hesitated. "Rachel took it to double-check the gestational dating."

I spun around. "That was the only picture I had of my baby."

"Once everything is cleared up, I'll get it back."

"And if the results aren't what you want?"

Sean was silent for a long moment.

"Keeping it would only make you miserable anyway."

The tape outlines were still fresh on the wall.

Apparently, even my right to mourn my own child had to wait until he verified the DNA.

He stayed home with me for the next two days.

He cooked every meal and kept a warm compress on my stomach at night. When I couldn't eat, he'd go back into the kitchen and make something else.

In the middle of the night, when I woke up crying from the pain, the bedside lamp would instantly click on. He'd rush in from the living room.

"Does it hurt again?"

I nodded.

Sean let me lean against his shoulder, his warm palm gently pressing against my lower abdomen. "The doctor said the lab report is going to take a bit longer."

I closed my eyes. I was so close to asking him if he could just forget the report.

Just one word of trust. That was all I needed.

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

It had my last period, his business trips, his night shifts, and every prenatal appointment mapped out.

Four days were circled in red. Two of those days, he hadn't been home.

I walked into the kitchen carrying the paper.

Sean was turning off the stove.

"Did you draw this?"

He glanced at it, his hand on the soup ladle slowing down. "No matter how I calculate it, the dates are off by a few days."

"So?"

"Just tell me the exact date we conceived."

"I've told you a hundred times, Sean. You cannot calculate pregnancy weeks that way."

"Then tell me again."

He set the ladle down. "Chloe, I'm losing my mind too. You could clear this up with one simple explanation. Why do you have to fight me on this?"

"I told you the baby is yours. Isn't that a simple explanation?"

"I need dates!"

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

I ripped the paper in half.

Sean bent down to pick up the pieces, his voice dropping low. "The more you act like this, the harder it is for me to believe you."

"I already told you. The baby was yours."

"But the lab report says I'm sterile!"

"If you trust the report so much, why are you asking me anything?!"

He froze.

I ripped my hand out of his grip and threw the torn paper into the trash can.

Right then, the doorbell rang.

Rachel was standing outside with a manila envelope. She walked in and smoothly slid her feet into a pair of grey slippers from the bottom of our shoe rack.

Slippers I had never seen before.

"Are those yours?" I asked.

Rachel paused, then stepped fully into them.

"I brought some paperwork over while you were in the hospital. Sean couldn't just let me walk around barefoot, right?"

Sean came out of the kitchen. "Give me the envelope, Rachel, and go home."

"I just finished a twelve-hour shift and haven't even had a glass of water. Why are you guys taking your marital drama out on me?"

She looked down and spotted the torn paper in the trash. "What's the point of calculating dates? Just wait for the DNA results."

I snatched the paper out of the trash. "Who gave you permission to touch that?"

Rachel straightened up. "Chloe, why are you snapping at me? I didn't write the fertility report, and I wasn't the one who got pregnant."

"Then why is my baby's ultrasound photo in your hands?"

"Sean couldn't make sense of the dating, so I took a look for him."

"If he couldn't understand it, he could have asked my OB-GYN."

"One of you is obsessed with logic, and the other is just stubborn. If I didn't step in, you guys would have burned this house down by now."

She pulled the ultrasound photo out of her bag.

The corner of the photo was creased with a white line. I took it from her and carefully tried to smooth it out.

"Chloe, Sean has been more than patient with you," Rachel said, crossing her arms. "Any other guy who saw a report like that wouldn't have even picked you up from the hospital."

"Oh, so I should thank him?"