Chapter 2

"The fellowship is still available, Elana. We'd be thrilled to have you." The director's voice was warm on the other end of the line. "But you understand the conditions? Six months, complete isolation. No outside contact."

"I understand," I said. It was exactly what I needed. A place to disappear. The only light in an endless tunnel of darkness.

"We can have everything arranged for you," he promised. "Just let us know your travel plans."

"Thank you," I said, a flicker of something like hope cutting through the numbness. "I'll see you in Zurich."

I hung up and drove straight home. Our home. The thought was a bitter pill.

The front door opened into a living room filled with symbols of our life together, a life that was now a grotesque parody. A pair of matching coffee mugs on the counter. A framed photo of us on our wedding day on the mantelpiece, his arm wrapped tightly around me. Each object was a testament to a lie.

A wave of revulsion washed over me. I grabbed a garbage bag from the kitchen and started moving through the house like a storm. The mugs went in first, shattering at the bottom of the bag. The photo frame followed, the glass cracking. I tore every picture of us from its frame, ripped them into tiny pieces, and threw them in. His clothes in my closet, the stupid little trinkets he'd brought back from his "business trips."

Everything went into the bags. I dragged them to the curb, a cleansing fire of rage burning through me.

Then I started packing. My medical textbooks, my research papers, my clothes. Everything that was mine. I arranged for a shipping company to pick them up and deliver them to my best friend Ayla's place.

Emilio didn't come home that night.

He walked in the next evening, looking tired but smiling. He dropped his briefcase and pulled me into an embrace, his arms wrapping around me like nothing was wrong.

"God, I missed you," he murmured into my hair.

My body went rigid. I could smell the faint, sweet scent of a different woman's perfume on his shirt. All I could picture was him holding that baby, kissing Hayden Cleveland. Nausea rose in my throat.

I pushed myself out of his arms. His smile faded, replaced by a look of concern. "What's wrong, Elana? You feel cold."

"I'm fine," I said, my voice flat.

He didn't push it. Instead, he pulled a series of gift-wrapped boxes from his briefcase. "I brought you presents. From my trip."

He had even faked the evidence of a business trip. A silk scarf from a designer Hayden favored. A bottle of perfume. I recognized the scent instantly. It was the same one Hayden had been wearing at the hospital. The same one he'd gifted me for my birthday back in college, forgetting my severe allergy to one of its components. I'd ended up in the emergency room. He had been frantic with guilt, swearing he'd remember everything about me, every like, every dislike, forever.

He had forgotten.

I wanted to scream, to throw the boxes in his face and demand to know how he could do this. But the words wouldn't come. I was trapped.

I looked him straight in the eye, my voice hard. "I want a baby, Emilio. I want one now."

His face changed. A flicker of panic, then a mask of weary patience. "We've talked about this. The company just launched a new initiative. I'm under a lot of pressure." The same excuse. Always the same.

His phone rang, saving him. I could hear it clearly from where I stood-Hayden's voice on the other end, and Leo crying in the background, calling for his daddy.

It hit me then. He didn't want a child with me. His love, his future, his family-it was already with someone else.

He kissed my forehead, a gesture that now felt like a brand of his betrayal. "It's work," he said smoothly. "I have to go. I'll be back late."

I watched from the window as he got into his car and sped away.

I collapsed onto the sofa, the fight draining out of me. My phone buzzed with a notification. A friend request from a name I didn't recognize. On a whim, I accepted.

My blood ran cold. Her profile was a shrine to my husband's secret life. Photo after photo of Emilio with Leo at the park, at a restaurant we used to frequent, on a carousel. And below the images, a string of comments and likes from people I knew. His friends. Our friends. The whole world knew. Everyone but me.

A violent cramp seized my stomach, the emotional agony manifesting as a physical blow. I lurched forward, my hand flying to my mouth as I ran for the bathroom, retching into the toilet.

My body felt strange. This wasn't just heartbreak. As a doctor, I knew the signs. A possibility, both a miracle and a curse, began to form in my mind.

He didn't come home that night.

The next morning, I went to my own hospital. I asked a trusted colleague to run the tests.

She came back with the results, her eyes crinkling at the corners as she smiled.

"Congratulations, Elana," she said, her voice bright with a joy I couldn't feel. "You're six weeks pregnant."