He looked at me.
“I need you to sit down,” he said.
“Tell me why I’m here.”
“Please.”
“No.”
I didn’t sit.
I couldn’t.
He stared at the floor for a long moment.
“Because there’s something I have to ask you,” he finally said. “And I need you to hear all of it before you answer.”
My mind immediately went somewhere ugly.
I wish I could say it didn’t.
I wish I trusted my husband so completely that standing outside a maternity room with a newborn girl inside wouldn’t make one thought punch straight through me.
His baby.
Someone else’s baby.
With him.
I looked through the glass again.
Pink blanket.
Tiny hand.
My stomach dropped.
“Is she yours?”
James looked genuinely shocked.
“What?”
“Don’t make me ask twice.”
“No.”
The answer came immediately.
“No. God, no.”
I stared at him.
“Then whose is she?”
He rubbed both hands over
