Chapter 2
Margaret stared at me as if I had just pulled a knife.
“What did you say?”
Ethan stood so quickly his chair scraped violently against the hardwood floor.
“Emily.”
His voice was low.
Warning me.
That made something inside me snap.
For four years, Ethan had asked me to stay quiet.
Quiet when Margaret criticized my cooking.
Quiet when she walked into our house without calling.
Quiet when she announced that two daughters were “enough girls for one family.”
Quiet when she bought blue baby clothes before we even knew what we were having.
And now she had put her hands on me while I was pregnant.
I was done being quiet.
I looked directly at Margaret.
“You heard me.”
Her face twisted.
“You’re saying Ethan isn’t the father?”
Ethan’s sister Claire covered her mouth.
His father, Richard, didn’t move.
I could see the color draining from Ethan’s face.
Margaret turned toward him.
“Is she admitting to an affair?”
“No,” Ethan said.
Margaret blinked.
“Then what is she admitting?”
I laughed once.
It sounded bitter even to me.
“Nothing. Because there’s nothing for me to admit.”
“Emily,” Ethan said again.
I spun toward him.
“Stop saying my name like I’m the problem.”
He froze.
Margaret stepped closer.
“If my son is not the father of that baby, you have exactly thirty seconds to explain yourself before I throw you out of this house.”
Claire suddenly stood.
“Mom, you shoved a pregnant woman onto the floor.”
“I barely touched her.”
“You shoved her.”
“Stay out of this.”
“No.”
Claire moved between us.
That surprised everyone.
Claire was thirty-two, two years younger than Ethan, and she had spent most of her life avoiding conflict with Margaret.
But not tonight.
“Emily could be hurt.”
Margaret pointed at my stomach.
“Apparently we have no idea whose baby that even is.”
Ethan shut his eyes.
Richard finally spoke.
“Ethan.”
One word.
Ethan looked at his father.
Richard’s expression had changed.
Not anger.
Fear.
“What is she talking about?”
Ethan swallowed.
I waited.
He said nothing.
Of course.
Even now.
I reached into my purse with shaking hands.
I still had the folded paperwork from the fertility clinic because I had gone directly from an appointment to Margaret’s house.
I pulled it out.
Ethan saw the clinic logo.
His face collapsed.
“Emily, please.”
I looked at him.
“You had your chance.”
Margaret snatched the papers.
Her eyes moved across the first page.
Then the second.
“What is this?”
Richard stepped closer.
Margaret read one sentence.
Then another.
Her hands began trembling.
“No.”
She looked at Ethan.
“No.”
Nobody spoke.
Margaret dropped the papers onto the dining table.
“Donor insemination?”
Claire whispered, “Oh my God.”
Richard stared at his son.
Ethan looked at the floor.
I pressed one hand against my stomach.
“Ethan was diagnosed with non-obstructive azoospermia three years ago.”
Margaret looked confused.
I didn’t soften it.
“He doesn’t produce viable sperm.”
Her face went blank.
“He can’t biologically father a child.”
The silence was brutal.
Ethan finally looked at me.
Tears stood in his eyes.
“That was private.”
“So was my pregnancy until your mother turned it into a family competition.”
“You promised me.”
“I promised I wouldn’t tell anyone because you were ashamed.”
“I wasn’t ashamed.”
“Then what were you?”
He couldn’t answer.
Margaret backed into the table.
“You’re lying.”
Ethan whispered, “Mom.”
“You’re lying.”
“I’m not.”
She slapped both hands over her mouth.
Richard lowered himself slowly into his chair.
Claire looked between them.
“So the girls?”
Ethan nodded.
“Our daughters were conceived the same way.”
Margaret stared at him.
“All three?”
“Yes.”
She looked at me again.
Something colder than anger entered her eyes.
“So none of them are ours.”
I felt my whole body tense.
“They’re Ethan’s daughters.”
“Not by blood.”
“They call him Daddy.”
“That is not what I said.”
Ethan suddenly raised his voice.
“Mom, stop.”
It was the first time all night he had challenged her.
Margaret turned toward him.
“You knew?”
“Yes.”
“And you let us believe—”
“I didn’t owe you my medical records.”
Richard stared at the table.
Margaret looked almost frantic now.
“What donor?”
“That’s none of your business,” I said.
“Was he screened?”
“Yes.”
“Was he intelligent?”
Claire stared at her.
“Mom.”
Margaret ignored her.
“Was he tall? What family did he come from? What nationality?”
I grabbed my coat.
“This is exactly why we never told you.”
Margaret followed me.
“So you deliberately brought strangers’ blood into my family.”
I stopped.
Then I turned.
“Your family?”
My voice shook.
“I carried those girls. Ethan held my hand through every procedure. He gave them bottles at two in the morning. He sat beside their beds when they had fevers. He taught Ava how to ride a bicycle. He cried when Sophie called him Daddy for the first time.”
Margaret’s expression didn’t change.
“Biology matters.”
“So does love.”
“Not when you lie.”
Ethan flinched.
That was when Richard looked up.
“Margaret.”
She turned.
He was staring at her with an expression I couldn’t understand.
“Don’t talk about lying.”
Margaret became very still.
“What is that supposed to mean?”
Richard’s jaw tightened.
“You know exactly what it means.”
Ethan looked between them.
“Dad?”
Margaret snapped, “This isn’t about me.”
Richard stood.
“For thirty-eight years, everything has been about you.”
The room seemed to shrink.
Claire whispered, “What’s going on?”
Margaret pointed toward me.
“She just admitted these children aren’t genetically Ethan’s.”
Richard didn’t look at me.
He kept staring at his wife.
“And you’re going to stand there lecturing people about blood?”
Margaret’s face turned white.
Ethan noticed.
“So what does he mean?”
“Nothing.”
“Mom.”
“I said nothing.”
Richard laughed under his breath.
It was not a happy laugh.
I had never heard him sound like that.
He looked exhausted.
Almost defeated.
“Maybe it’s time.”
Margaret rushed toward him.
“No.”
Richard stepped back.
“Maybe it should have been time thirty-eight years ago.”
“No.”
Ethan stared at his father.
“What happened thirty-eight years ago?”
Margaret’s eyes filled with panic.
I had never seen her afraid before.
Not once.
And somehow that frightened me more than her anger.
Then a cramp ripped through my lower abdomen.
I gasped.
Claire grabbed my arm.
“Emily?”
Another sharp pain hit.
I bent forward.
Ethan was beside me instantly.
“What’s wrong?”
“My stomach.”
Margaret’s expression changed.
Ethan put an arm around me.
“Is it the baby?”
“I don’t know.”
Then I felt something warm.
For one horrible second, nobody moved.
I looked down.
A small red stain was spreading across the front of my light-colored pants.
Ethan’s face went completely white.
“Call 911.”
Margaret whispered, “Oh my God.”
I looked at her.
The woman who had told me I was being dramatic.
The woman who had shoved me.
And suddenly she could not meet my eyes.
Claire grabbed her phone.
Richard moved toward the front door.
Ethan lifted me carefully.
“I’ve got you.”
I pushed weakly against his chest.
“Don’t.”
“Emily.”
“Don’t tell me you’ve got me.”
His eyes filled with pain.
“Please.”
I looked at the man who had watched his mother humiliate me.
“You didn’t have me ten minutes ago.”
The sirens arrived quickly.
Everything after that became bright lights and frantic voices.
Paramedics asked how I had fallen.
I told them the truth.
“My mother-in-law shoved me.”
Margaret stood in the doorway.
Her face hardened again.
“It was an accident.”
One of the paramedics looked at me.
“Did she intentionally put her hands on you?”
“Yes.”
Margaret snapped, “Emily.”
I looked straight at him.
“Yes.”
He wrote something down.
At the hospital, doctors rushed me upstairs.
The baby still had a heartbeat.
That was the first thing they told me.
I cried so hard I could barely breathe.
But there was bleeding near the placenta.
They wanted me monitored overnight.
Ethan sat beside the bed.
For nearly an hour, neither of us spoke.
Then his phone buzzed.
He glanced at it.
Margaret.
He declined the call.
It buzzed again.
Then again.
Finally a text appeared across the screen.
I could read it from the hospital bed.
DO NOT TELL YOUR FATHER ANYTHING ELSE UNTIL I SPEAK TO YOU.
I looked at Ethan.
“What else?”
He locked the screen.
“Nothing.”
I laughed despite the tears on my face.
“Please don’t.”
“What?”
“Lie to me tonight.”
“I’m not lying.”
“Your father was about to tell us something.”
Ethan stared toward the dark hospital window.
I watched him.
“You know what it is.”
He said nothing.
That was answer enough.
My heart started pounding.
“Ethan.”
He rubbed both hands over his face.
“Emily, there are things about my family you don’t understand.”
“Then explain them.”
He looked at me.
For the first time that night, he looked truly terrified.
“My mother didn’t just want a grandson because she likes boys.”
I waited.
Ethan lowered his voice.
“She needed one.”
“Needed one for what?”
Before he could answer, the door opened.
Richard stood there alone.
His coat was wet from the rain.
And in his hand was an old yellow envelope.
He looked at Ethan.
May you like
Then at me.
“I think both of you deserve the truth.”
