Please.
That word almost worked.
Almost.
“I’m holding the baby,” I said slowly. “Why can’t you call?”
And that’s when I saw it.
The paper.
Folded neatly into the blanket.
With his name on it.
“Daniel.”
Just that.
Nothing else.
I pulled it free.
My fingers felt numb as I unfolded it.
And then I read.
And the world I thought I had…
Collapsed.
“Daniel,
His name is Benjamin.
You said you would help us.
You said I wouldn’t have to do this alone.
I can’t keep begging you to answer me.
He’s your son too.
— Gwen.”
The floor hit me before I realized I was falling.
I sat there, holding that baby—his baby—and all I could hear was the bacon burning behind me.
Everything about my husband suddenly looked… wrong.
Not unfamiliar.
Worse.
Familiar in a way that felt rehearsed.
