Chapter 4

The day I decided to leave, the baby ran a low fever again.

The doctor said premature babies had weak immune systems. He couldn't be kept in damp air, couldn't stay long in a basement.

When I got home with the diagnosis slip, Tom was standing by the window with the baby in his arms.

The little one was whimpering against his chest.

He bent his head and patted the small back, his voice, for once, gone gentle.

"Don't give your mom a hard time. She's hurting."

My steps stopped.

For that one second, I almost believed he had finally seen my pain.

Then Yuna came down from upstairs, holding a scarf.

"Tom, I can't tie this."

Tom handed the baby back into my arms.

The motion was easy.

As easy as if the tender thing he'd just said had been nothing more than a piece of candy tossed my way.

He took the scarf, looped it around Yuna's neck, then pulled the hair caught underneath it back out.

Yuna smiled. "Tom, when you have a daughter someday, you'll take such good care of her."

Tom smiled too.

"My son can be my practice for now."

I held the feverish baby and set the diagnosis slip on the table.

"The doctor says he can't live in the basement anymore."

Tom gave it a glance.

"Then move back into the master bedroom."

"And my parents?"

He was silent for a second.

"They can stay downstairs. The baby doesn't sleep with them anyway."

I looked at him.

"Tom, do you really not understand, or are you pretending?"

His face darkened.

"Don't start again."

My father came up the stairs, holding the railing.

The wound on his foot had split open, blood seeping through the gauze.

He set a pair of freshly washed baby socks down by the sofa and said, quietly,

"Tom, the basement's damp, the baby's clothes won't dry down there. Could we hang them upstairs during the day and take them back down at night?"

Yuna covered her nose at once.

"Sir, I'm sorry, I've been a little sensitive to the smell of detergent lately."

My father's hand froze.

"I rinsed them out several extra times with clean water. There's no smell."

Tom pressed at his brow.

"Dad, stop making trouble."

The color drained clean from my father's face.

Making trouble.

I held the baby tighter.

"You apologize to my dad."

Tom seemed to have reached his limit, and let out a short laugh.

"Maggie, is that the only line you know?"

"Apologize."

"Fine, I'm wrong, okay?"

He spread his hands, his tone flippant.

It wasn't an apology.

He was turning my father's humiliation into me making an unreasonable scene.

Yuna's tears fell again.

"You don't have to push Tom like this. I'll go. I'll go right now. I'm the guilty one here anyway."

Saying it, she rushed for the door.

She'd just reached it when her body suddenly went limp.

Tom's face changed. He was there in an instant, catching her.

"Yuna!"

At that same moment the baby was crying and shaking in my arms, his forehead frighteningly hot.

Blood dripped from my father's foot onto the floor.

My mother's voice cracked with panic.

"Maggie, get the baby to the hospital, now!"

I looked at Tom.

This was the last chance I was giving him.

"The baby has a fever, and my dad's foot is split open. Let go of her now and come to the hospital with me, and I'll take it that you still know who your family is."

Tom stood holding Yuna, his throat working.

He looked at the baby once, then down at Yuna in his arms.

Her eyes were half open, her hand weakly gripping the front of his shirt.

"Tom, am I going to die..."

Tom closed his eyes.

"I'll take her to the ER first. I'll leave the driver. You go on your own."

My mother cried out to him, "Tom! The baby has a fever too!"

Tom carried Yuna toward the door. His step paused only once.

"Maggie, be reasonable. The baby has the three of you. She only has me."

But the last thing left in me shattered for good.

I didn't cry again.

I called the lawyer.

"I'm leaving now."

"Good. A car will be there in ten minutes, and a volunteer will bring an infant carrier. Ms. Swanson, from this moment on, all communication goes through his lawyer."

I hung up and wrapped the baby snugly in his little blanket.

At one in the morning, we left that little white house.

I took none of the jewelry Tom had bought me.

I left only the divorce papers on the dining table, a copy of the critical-condition notice, and my wedding ring.

Near dawn, Tom came back.

He pushed the door open and called out of habit, "Maggie, has the baby's fever gone down?"

No one answered.

He ran upstairs. The master bedroom was empty, the living room empty, the kitchen empty.

At last he saw the envelope on the dining table.

On the final page of the divorce papers, my name was written clearly.

Beside it lay the hospital's critical-condition notice.

The black print stared out at him.

【Risk of intrauterine fetal hypoxia.】

【Risk of maternal hemorrhage.】

Tom reached out to touch it, but his fingertips shook badly.

His phone suddenly rang. An unknown number.

He answered almost instantly.

"Maggie!"

On the other end was the lawyer's calm voice.

"Mr. James, Ms. Swanson has retained me to handle the divorce, custody, and subsequent visitation matters."

Tom's breath caught.

"What did you say?"

"Also, on the paperwork for the child's return home, Ms. Swanson has tentatively set his Chinese name as Godfrey Swanson, taking the mother's surname. The father's information will be confirmed later through both parties' lawyers."

Tom's eyes shot to the copy on the table.

The mother's line read Maggie Swanson.

The child's name: Godfrey Swanson.

He called me like a madman, called my parents.

Phones off.

He called the driver.

The driver said, "Mr. James, your wife didn't cry when she left. She only said, drive faster, the baby's still running a fever."

Tom dropped into the chair.

His gaze fell to the paper beneath the wedding ring.

On it was a single line.

【Tom, I don't love you anymore.】