voice he uses when he deals with people he wants to get rid of—I’ve heard him use it with his ex-wife.
“I am. But the herb in the sleeping aids decreases its efficiency. It was actually on the bottle, but I didn’t read the fine print. That’s on me.” Desperate, so desperate to be understood, I continue. “It’s called St. John’s Wort. The herb. You can search it online.”
He nods again. Falls silent.
My heart beats a war drum in my chest.
“Where are you going now? After you move out of here?” Ethan asks. Polite interest in his voice, nothing more.
“I’m looking at places on Saturday. If I don’t find anything right away, I’ll stay with a friend.”
“All right. Well, you have my number. Call me if that doesn’t work out or if you need anything.” He stands, and from his back pocket, pulls out his wallet. Counts through the bills. Puts a stack of them on the living-room table.
“For all the medical appointments,” he tells me, “and the vitamins, for everything like that. I know it’s costly.”
I can hardly see the bills through my tears, can barely hear him through the audible sound of my heart breaking.
This can’t be happening. “Ethan…”
He pauses by the hallway. How has he made it all the way over there in the span of my heart cracking?
His gaze is courteous, but there’s no emotion on his face, like he’s shut me out entirely. Like I’m now a stranger.
Like I’ve betrayed him.
The words spill out of the crack in my soul. “What about us?” I ask. “Is there any way you could forgive me? For lying about being their niece…”
Ethan looks away, his jaw working. “That lie seems almost minor now in comparison,” he says calmly. “Did you get inspired from Lyra’s story, or was this always the plan? Were you aiming for this from the first time you came over to introduce yourself? I’d have to assume so, since that’s the first time you lied to get closer.”
I can’t get enough air. It’s all been sucked out of this room, out of the space between us, leaving it an empty vacuum.
“Ethan, that’s not at all—”
“Spare it, Bella.” He shakes his head. The disgust on his features… it might be aimed at me or at himself or at us both. Probably us both. “You might be having my child, but I’m not about to trust you again. I’ll be in touch.”
He heads toward the front door, pulling it open. I stumble after him but only make it to the foyer before it slams behind him. Somewhere deep in the house, I hear a cat yelp at the sound.
Slowly, ever so slowly, I sink to the floor. The stone is cold against my skin and my tears, when they fall, glisten on the hard surface.
One thing is inevitable in life, and it’s that time never stands still. The days keep turning, despite the internal state of panic I’m in.
Most days I spend ignoring my thesis in favor of pregnancy research, apartment hunting, packing up my belongings and ensuring the Gardners’ house is in pristine condition for their arrival. I’m to be out one day before they arrive, which includes coordinating with the cleaning crew to do a final sweep of the house.
All these tasks are good. They keep me busy—too busy to focus on the fact that my baby’s father hates me. That I have no idea at all how I’m supposed to break this news to my parents, to my friends.
That I might eventually have things like preeclampsia or something that’s called lightning crotch.
My visit to the OB-GYN isn’t for several weeks yet—she’d laughed when I said I thought I should come in right away. “Between week six and eight,” she told me, “you’re welcome to come in for your first appointment. Before then, I can’t really see much.” And then, the first person to say it, she added, “And congratulations, Bella.”
I’d cried after I hung up the phone, but I do that a lot these days.
The hardest thing was to be quiet around Wilma and Trina. I joined them for drinks one evening to celebrate Trina’s new appointment as an undergraduate teaching assistant, and had to blame a headache for my choice of drink.
“How’s Ethan?” Wilma had asked, her hand reaching out to land on mine. “Have you been able to get through to him?”
“No. That ship has sailed entirely, I think.”
“Stubborn, infuriating man,” Trina had said. “Do you want us to knock some sense into