The night I came home early from my business trip and found my pregnant wife trembling alone in the dark, one horrible thought poisoned my mind before I even asked if she was okay — and that single moment nearly destroyed everything we had built together.
PART 1 — THE NIGHT I ALMOST LOST HER
I still remember the sound my suitcase made when it slipped from my hand and hit the hardwood floor.
A dull thud.
Heavy.
Final.
The apartment was almost completely dark except for the weak yellow hallway light spilling into our bedroom, and for a second my brain refused to understand what I was looking at.
Claire lay curled on the bed, shaking.
One hand gripped her stomach so tightly her knuckles looked white beneath the dim light. Her pale pink nightgown was twisted backward, wrinkled badly around her body, and the sheets underneath her were soaked with large dark stains that immediately sent my thoughts somewhere ugly.
Somewhere shameful.
I froze in the doorway.
Not because I didn’t love my wife.
But because some terrible part of me reacted before love did.
The room tilted slowly around me. My chest tightened. My heartbeat pounded violently in my ears while a hundred disgusting suspicions exploded through my mind all at once.
Claire looked exhausted. Pale. Almost gray beneath the shadows.
An overturned glass of water sat beside the bed.
One stain suddenly made sense.
The fear in her eyes did not.
“Ethan…” she whispered weakly.
Not angry.
Not defensive.
Like she was begging me not to panic.
That was the moment reality finally crashed through the poison in my head.
I rushed toward her so fast I nearly tripped over my suitcase, dropping to my knees beside the bed while guilt tore through me hard enough to make me feel sick.
Her skin felt cold when I grabbed her wrist.
Too cold.
