I didn’t need to.
One line flashed across the screen.
“Everything will be ready before the birth.”
The next morning, I waited until he poured his coffee.
“Ready for what?”
He looked up. “What?”
“The message on your phone.”
His face hardened. “You read my phone?”
“Everything will be ready before the birth.”
“I saw one line. What will be ready before the birth?”
Christopher set his mug down hard enough to spill coffee.
His chair scraped back. “Drop it, Marie.”
Something in his voice went flat.
Not angry.
Finished.
That scared me more than the message.
“Drop it, Marie.”
***
Weeks later, I found Mr. Henderson’s business card in Christopher’s jacket while checking pockets before laundry.
“Family agreements. Custody matters. Assisted reproduction contracts.”
I didn’t wait for Christopher to come home and explain it into something softer.
I drove to his office.
Tessa, his assistant, looked up from her desk and froze.
“Marie. He stepped out for coffee.”
“I’ll wait in his office.”
