Chương 3
Toast.
Eggs.
Fruit.
Simple things.
“You don’t have to solve everything today,” she said.
“I need a lawyer.”
Her eyebrows lifted.
“Okay.”
“I need to find out what he filed.”
“He filed something?”
“I don’t know.”
“Then we start with what we know.”
I looked at her.
She had always been like that.
When we were children, I panicked before every exam.
Maya would take my papers, separate them into piles, and tell me one problem at a time.
She did not make fear disappear.
She made it manageable.
“I hate that I still love him,” I whispered.
Maya looked down at her coffee.
She did not give me the answer people gave in movies.
She did not say I deserved better.
She did not tell me to forget him.
She just said, “That makes sense.”
I swallowed.
“He was my best friend.”
“I know.”
“And now I don’t even know if anything was real.”
Maya leaned back.
“That’s the question you’re going to have to answer.”
“What do you mean?”
“Not whether he was wrong.”
She paused.
“Whether you were ignoring things because you loved him.”
I hated that she said it.
Mostly because part of me knew she was right.
The first attorney I called would not take my case.
Not because I had no case.
Because she was too busy.
The second one specialized in family law and told me she could meet two days later.
Two days felt impossible.
My entire life had changed overnight.
But the world did not care.
People still had appointments.
Meetings.
Lunch breaks.
Dentist visits.
The world kept moving even when yours stopped.
That afternoon, I went back to the apartment with Maya.
Not to talk to Rowan.
To get my purse.
Marcus let us through the lobby.
He avoided asking questions.
That was another kindness.
The elevator ride was quiet.
When the doors opened, I saw the apartment exactly as I had left it.
Except it no longer felt like mine.
My coat was still hanging on the chair.
A bowl of lemons sat on the counter.
The plant near the window needed water.
Small signs of a life interrupted.
Maya picked up my purse from the table.
Then she noticed something.
“What’s this?”
She held up a piece of paper.
I walked closer.
It was a receipt.
A restaurant receipt.
I looked at the date.
Three weeks earlier.
The same night Rowan told me he had been working late.
My stomach tightened.
“Maya.”
She looked at me.
“What?”
“I remember this night.”
The receipt was from a restaurant downtown.
A place Rowan and I had gone for anniversaries.
“What about it?”
“He said he was at the office.”
Maya did not respond.
She did not need to.
The receipt was not proof of anything.
That was the frustrating part.
It could mean something.
It could mean nothing.
I had spent months feeling like I was losing my mind because every piece of evidence existed in that terrible middle ground.
Enough to hurt.
Not enough to prove.
A sound came from the hallway.
The front door opened.
Rowan walked in.
He stopped when he saw us.
For a moment, nobody spoke.
His eyes moved from me to Maya.
Then to the receipt in my hand.
Something changed in his face.
Not guilt.
Concern.
That bothered me more.
“Why are you here?”
I stared at him.
“Interesting question.”
“Nora.”
“I forgot my purse.”
“You could have called.”
“I did.”
His expression shifted.
“When?”
“Last night.”
“I didn’t see anything.”
Of course he didn’t.
My phone had been inside my purse.
The first moment of relief I felt was strange.
I almost laughed.
“I wasn’t calling you.”
That landed.
Rowan looked away.
Maya stepped closer to me.
Not threatening.
Just present.
“I’ll wait downstairs,” she said.
I looked at her.
“You don’t have to.”
“I know.”
She left.
Rowan watched the door close.
Then he said, “You shouldn’t be moving around so much.”
The sentence was so normal that it almost made me angry.
“You’re worried about me?”
“Yes.”
“After last night?”
His mouth tightened.
“I can be worried about you and still believe what I believe.”
There it was.
The thing that made him dangerous.
He had convinced himself he was being reasonable.
“You really think I cheated.”
“I think something happened that you’re not telling me.”
I stared at him.
“Something happened?”
“You changed.”
The accusation was quiet.
Almost sad.
“When?”
“After the miscarriage.”
The word hit harder than I expected.
Rowan looked toward the nursery.
“I felt like you disappeared.”
I opened my mouth.
Nothing came out.
Because that part was true.
After we lost the baby three years earlier, I had changed.
I stopped making plans.
Stopped talking about the future.
Stopped believing good things stayed.
But I had thought we changed together.
“I was grieving,” I said.
“I know.”
“No, you don’t.”
He looked at me.
“I tried.”
“You tried for three months.”
His face tightened.
“And then?”
“Then you got busy.”
“That’s not fair.”
“No.”
I looked around the apartment.
“At least tonight, I think it is.”
A notification appeared on his phone.
He glanced down automatically.
Just a second.
But I saw the name.
Elise.
He turned the phone over.
Too late.
“Is she here often?”
“No.”
The answer was immediate.
Too immediate.
I nodded slowly.
“Do you hear yourself?”
“Nora.”
“I spent months wondering if I was imagining things.”
“You were.”
“Maybe.”
I picked up my purse.
“But now I know I wasn’t imagining that you stopped choosing me.”
For the first time, Rowan looked tired.
Not angry.
Not confident.
Just tired.
“I never wanted this.”
I looked at him.
“But you chose it.”
Neither of us spoke.
The nursery door remained slightly open behind him.
Inside was a crib we had picked together.
A room built for a child whose father was now asking for proof.
I walked past him.
At the doorway, I stopped.
May you like
“I’m going to take a paternity test.”
Rowan nodded.
