Chương 8
“There’s something else you need to know.”
I waited.
“Rachel wasn’t the only person who knew about the pregnancy.”
My chest tightened.
“Who else knew?”
He hesitated.
“Your doctor.”
My entire body went cold.
“What did you say?”
Marcus did not answer immediately.
The silence was so long that I pulled the phone away from my ear and looked at the screen.
The call was still connected.
“Marcus.”
“I didn’t mean for you to find out this way.”
My fingers tightened around the phone.
“Find out what way?”
He exhaled.
“Valeria, please.”
“No.”
My voice was sharper now.
“No more please.”
I stood up from the kitchen chair.
“You don’t get to decide when I know the truth.”
He stayed quiet.
“Who knew?”
“My doctor.”
I felt my heartbeat in my throat.
“Why would my doctor know about Rachel?”
“He wasn’t her doctor.”
“Then explain.”
Another pause.
A terrible pause.
“Marcus.”
“I asked him questions.”
“About what?”
“About pregnancy.”
I laughed once.
It was not a happy sound.
“You asked my doctor questions about another woman’s pregnancy?”
“No.”
The answer came quickly.
“Not exactly.”
I walked toward the window.
Outside, the neighborhood looked painfully normal.
A man across the street was unloading groceries from his car.
A woman was walking a golden retriever near the sidewalk.
Someone’s sprinkler system clicked on in the distance.
People were living ordinary lives while mine had become something I could barely recognize.
“What does not exactly mean?”
Marcus’s voice became lower.
“After Rachel lost the baby, I was scared.”
“Scared of what?”
“That she was blaming herself.”
I closed my eyes.
“And you thought you needed my doctor?”
“No.”
“Then why?”
“Because your doctor had helped us through IVF.”
The words landed slowly.
My grip loosened.
“You talked to my fertility doctor?”
“I didn’t tell him everything.”
“That is not an answer.”
“I asked about grief after pregnancy loss.”
I stared at the wall.
“So you were discussing Rachel with the person who helped me become pregnant.”
“Yes.”
The pain that came was strange.
Not explosive.
Not loud.
Just heavy.
Like someone had placed a stone inside my chest.
“You took something that belonged to me.”
“Valeria.”
“No.”
I shook my head.
“My doctor was not just some random person.”
“I know.”
“He knew how afraid I was.”
“I know.”
“He knew every appointment where I cried because we didn’t know if we would ever have children.”
“I know.”
“Did he know about me?”
Marcus went silent.
That was the answer.
“Did he know you were married to me?”
“Yes.”
My stomach turned.
“Did he know you were having an affair?”
“No.”
At least that answer came quickly.
I sat back down.
My legs suddenly felt weak.
“Why are you telling me this now?”
“Because you deserve to know.”
I almost laughed.
“Now you believe that?”
“I should have told you before.”
“Yes.”
My voice became quiet.
“You should have.”
For a moment, neither of us spoke.
Then Marcus said something I did not expect.
“I never hated you.”
The sentence confused me.
“What?”
“I know you think I did.”
“I don’t think that.”
I looked toward the stairs.
“I think you stopped choosing me.”
He breathed out.
“That’s fair.”
“No.”
I shook my head.
“It’s not fair.”
The admission surprised even me.
“Because I keep trying to make this about whether I was enough.”
Marcus did not respond.
“And I wasn’t supposed to have to compete.”
My eyes burned.
“There was never supposed to be a competition.”
The line stayed quiet.
Then he said softly.
“I know.”
I ended the call.
Not because I had forgiven him.
Not because I understood.
Because I had reached the point where hearing more from him was only creating new wounds before the old ones had even closed.
I sat there for several minutes.
Then I called my fertility clinic.
My hands shook while I waited through the automated menu.
I almost hung up.
Almost.
But I stayed.
When the receptionist answered, I gave my name.
There was a brief pause.
“Mrs. Vance?”
“Yes.”
“How can I help you?”
I looked at the kitchen table.
At the spot where Marcus had once spread out baby name lists.
“I need to know if my husband contacted my doctor about another patient.”
The receptionist became quiet.
“I’m sorry?”
“I know you may not be able to tell me anything.”
That was the frustrating part.
Modern life was full of information everywhere and still somehow impossible to access when you needed answers.
“I just need to know if there is something I should be concerned about.”
The receptionist’s voice became careful.
“I can’t discuss another patient.”
“I understand.”
“And I cannot confirm or deny communications involving medical information.”
“I understand.”
A pause.
Then she said something unexpected.
“Dr. Bennett asked me to tell you something if you ever called about your records.”
I sat up straighter.
“What?”
“He said you may want to schedule an appointment.”
My stomach tightened.
“Why?”
“I don’t know.”
The answer sounded genuine.
“He only said that if you called, we should make time for you.”
I looked at the clock.
“Today?”
“Yes.”
I hung up and stared at the phone.
Arthur found me like that an hour later.
“What happened?”
I told him.
He listened without interrupting.
When I finished, he rubbed his jaw.
“Are you going?”
“Yes.”
“I’ll drive.”
“I can drive.”
“I know.”
He picked up his keys.
“But you don’t have to.”
That sentence stayed with me.
You don’t have to.
Such a simple thing.
But I had spent years believing I did.
I had to handle things.
I had to be reasonable.
I had to understand.
I had to forgive.
Maybe I did not.
The fertility clinic looked exactly the same as it had when I was desperate for good news.
Same waiting room.
Same gray chairs.
Same magazine rack filled with outdated parenting magazines.
I remembered sitting there with Marcus.
May you like
His hand wrapped around mine.
His thumb rubbing circles over my knuckles.
