He expected his mother to comfort him and his father to criticize me for being cold and unforgiving. Most of all, he expected them to welcome the news that he finally had children.
Victoria opened the door shortly after one in the morning.
Her expression softened when she saw him standing there with his suitcases.
“What happened?”
“Eleanor threw me out.”
From the sitting room, Charles lowered his newspaper.
Arthur stepped inside and placed his luggage near the staircase.
“It’s probably for the best,” he continued. “Brooke and the babies need me now.”
Victoria’s hand tightened around the door handle.
“What babies?”
“My children.”
Arthur almost smiled as he said it.
“Twins. A son and a daughter.”
Charles folded the newspaper slowly.
Victoria stared at Arthur as though he had begun speaking in a language she did not understand.
Then the color drained from her face.
“She never told you?” she whispered.
Arthur’s smile disappeared.
“Told me what?”
Victoria glanced toward her husband.
Charles looked away.
Without another word, she led Arthur into the kitchen. She opened a cabinet above the refrigerator and removed a faded medical folder that had been hidden behind several old cookbooks.
She placed it on the table.
Arthur remained standing.
“What is that?”
“Sit down.”
“Mother—”
“Please.”
Something in her voice silenced him.
Arthur opened the folder.
The first page documented the infection he had suffered at nineteen. The next described the emergency surgery. Several specialist evaluations followed.
Each reached the same conclusion.
Permanent sterility.
Arthur read the report once.
Then again.
He turned the pages more quickly the third time, as though a different answer might appear if he searched hard enough.
“This is wrong.”
Victoria sat across from him.
“It isn’t.”
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