The sight of him holding her while we spoke about the ruins of our marriage felt impossible and intimate.
“I was going to tell you,” I said. “At first. Then a week passed. Then two. Then I found out you’d moved your things out while I was at work.”
“I thought that would make it easier.”
“For whom?”
He looked down at Maya.
“For me.”
The honesty hurt more than excuses.
“I was a coward,” he said.
I did not disagree.
Outside the door, footsteps passed. A nurse laughed softly at something down the hall. Life continued in all its ordinary ways while mine rearranged itself piece by piece.
“What happened to the voicemail?” I asked.
“I don’t know.”
But even as he said it, I saw something cross his face.
A memory.
“What?” I asked.
“My mother had my phone that weekend.”
My entire body went cold.
“She said she was switching me to a new plan. Family plan. Cheaper. I didn’t care enough to argue. She took my phone for a few hours.”
I stared at him.
“The weekend I called?”
“I don’t know. Maybe.”
“Ethan.”
“I’ll check.”
“You can’t check a deleted voicemail from nine months ago.”
“No,” he said slowly. “But I can check phone records. And maybe backups.”
I wanted to scream.
Not loudly. Not dramatically.
Just enough to release the pressure of all the almosts.
Almost told him.
Almost saved us.
Almost had him beside me at the first ultrasound, when the blurry shape on the screen had made me sob so hard the technician handed me tissues.
Almost.
Maya stretched one tiny hand from her blanket.
Ethan looked down, and his expression softened with wonder.
“I missed everything,” he said.
I swallowed.
“Yes.”
“I missed the first ultrasound.”
“Yes.”
“The cravings.”
“Mostly oranges and peanut butter. Not together.”
A faint smile crossed his face and vanished.
“The kicks.”
“She kicked whenever I played old jazz.”
He looked up.
“You still listen to Miles Davis when you cook?”
“Sometimes.”
His eyes held mine.
For a second, we were back in our kitchen, before everything went wrong, before Vivian had a key and an opinion about every cabinet, before love became something we defended from the wrong side.
Then Maya sneezed.
It was tiny and indignant.
