He bent closer to the bassinet, almost as though another angle might change what he saw.
His jaw tightened.
I watched him trying to make sense of something and failing.
“Rachel.” His voice went flat. “Can you… can you leave us for a minute?”
Rachel looked between us, her professional expression still in place.
She fastened the baby’s gown.
“Of course. I’ll be right outside if you need me.”
The door closed.
Aaron remained beside the bassinet.
“Honey, you’re scaring me,” I said. “What’s wrong with him? Is he okay?”
Slowly, Aaron turned toward me.
His eyes were wet, but the softness from minutes earlier was gone.
“Michael.”
I blinked.
“What?”
“Michael,” he repeated. “All those months I was working late. He was at the house. With you.”
I stared at him.
“Because you asked him to help us.”
Aaron looked down at the baby again.
“Your son has his birthmark, Elena. The same shape. The same place.”
For a second, I actually laughed.
I thought he had to be joking.
Nothing else made sense.
“Aaron, what are you talking about? He’s your son. What does Michael have to do with…”
“Don’t.” He raised one hand. “Don’t say his name to me like you don’t know.”
“I don’t know,” I said, my voice breaking.
“He was at the house. Every week. He was picking up the girls from school. He was alone with you.”
“Because I was seven months pregnant and you were working overtime, Aaron. Because he was helping us. Because he is your best friend.”
“Don’t.”
Heat suddenly spread through my chest as my milk came in, soaking through the thin hospital gown.
I sat up too quickly, and my stitches pulled sharply.
I reached for Aaron’s wrist.
“Then do a test,” I said. “A DNA test. Right now. Today. I don’t care what it costs, I don’t care what you have to sign, do it.”
He jerked his hand away as if I had burned him.
“I don’t need a test to tell me what I’m looking at.”
“Aaron.”
“Take the baby to your sister’s when they discharge you. Take him to Diana’s. I can’t. I can’t be in the same house.”
“Aaron, please. Just look at me.”
He wouldn’t.
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