Chapter 4

Victor came home just before sunrise.

I was already awake, sitting by the bedroom window with a cup of coffee growing cold between my hands. I hadn't slept much after seeing the photograph from the night before, but I didn't feel angry anymore. The anger had burned itself out somewhere between two and four in the morning, leaving behind something quieter and much harder to understand.

When Victor opened the bedroom door, he stopped when he saw me.

"I thought you'd still be asleep."

"I couldn't."

He looked tired. His tie was loose, and there were dark circles beneath his eyes. For a moment, I wondered if he had spent the entire night with Mara, but I didn't ask.

Victor walked toward the bed and sat down beside me.

"About last night..."

I waited.

"I'm sorry."

I looked at him. "For what?"

He seemed surprised by the question.

"For leaving."

"You said she needed you."

"She did."

I nodded and took another sip of my coffee.

Victor watched me carefully, almost as though he had expected an argument and didn't know what to do with my silence.

"I know you're upset."

"I'm not."

"Eleanor."

"I'm tired, Victor."

He leaned back against the headboard and rubbed his face. "I didn't want things to happen this way."

Something about the sentence caught my attention.

"What things?"

He was quiet.

Then he looked at me.

"Mara is pregnant."

For several seconds, I didn't understand what he had said.

The room seemed strangely quiet. I could hear the faint hum of the air conditioner, the ticking of the clock on the wall, and my own heartbeat growing louder in my ears.

"What?"

Victor swallowed.

"Mara is pregnant."

I stared at him.

He immediately continued, as though he had prepared the explanation during the drive home.

"I only found out recently. She didn't tell me at first because she was scared. She hasn't been handling it well, and that's why she called me last night."

I couldn't speak.

Pregnant.

The word repeated itself in my mind, each time becoming heavier.

I looked down at my coffee, but my hands had started trembling. I placed the cup on the table before I dropped it.

"How long have you known?"

"Not long."

"How long?"

Victor hesitated.

"A few days."

A strange calm settled over me.

I had spent weeks wondering whether there was something between them. I had watched Mara wear my bracelet, heard her use Victor's old nickname, and seen the way he looked at her whenever she needed him.

Now I had my answer.

There had been something.

Victor moved closer.

"Eleanor, listen to me."

I didn't move.

"This is complicated."

I almost smiled.

Of course it was.

Everything seemed complicated whenever Victor needed to explain something that should have been simple.

"Is the baby yours?"

He looked at me.

"Yes."

The word landed harder than everything else.

I closed my eyes for a moment.

Seven years ago, Victor had sat beside me in a hospital room and told me that he didn't need another child.

He had held my hand and promised that I was enough.

Now another woman was carrying his baby.

Victor continued speaking, but I barely heard him.

"I didn't know this would happen. I never planned for any of this."

I opened my eyes.

"But it happened."

He nodded.

"Yes."

"And what do you want to do?"

He looked away.

That hesitation told me more than any confession could have.

I studied his face, searching for the man I remembered. The man who had cried when our son's heartbeat disappeared. The man who had refused to leave my hospital room. The man who had told me that we could live without another child because he already had everything he needed.

He looked older now.

More distant.

But he was still Victor.

Or perhaps that was what made it hurt.

I had spent seven years believing I knew exactly who he was.

Then I asked the only question that mattered.

"Are you happy?"

Victor went completely still.

I watched him carefully.

He could have lied.

He could have said no. He could have told me that the pregnancy meant nothing, that he was confused, that he wished none of this had happened.

Instead, after only a brief hesitation, he answered honestly.

"I don't know."

I waited.

He looked down at his hands.

"But..."

I already knew there would be a but.

"I've always wanted to be a father again."

Something inside me went very quiet.

I looked toward the hallway.

At the far end of it was the room we had once prepared for our son. We had painted the walls a soft cream because Victor couldn't decide on a color. There had been a crib beside the window, a rocking chair in the corner, and a small shelf filled with books we had bought before we even knew what kind of child he would become.

After we lost him, we closed the door.

For years, neither of us had talked about opening it again.

I remembered standing in that hospital room while Victor held my hand and told me that he didn't need another child.

Now he was sitting in front of me, telling me that he had always wanted another chance.

I finally understood.

He hadn't changed his mind yesterday.

He had probably been changing it for much longer.

"I thought you said I was enough."

Victor's face tightened.

"You are."

"No."

"Eleanor—"

"You told me we didn't need another child."

"I believed that then."

"And now?"

He exhaled slowly.

"Now there's a baby."

The answer was so simple that it almost broke me.

I looked at him for a long moment.

"What about Mara?"

Victor's expression hardened.

"She didn't plan this."

"Neither did I."

He flinched.

I hadn't meant to say it that way, but I couldn't take the words back.

Victor reached for my hand.

I moved it away.

His eyes followed the movement.

"Eleanor, I know this is difficult."

"Difficult?"

"I understand that you're hurt."

"Do you?"

He looked at me helplessly.

"I don't want to hurt you."

"But you already did."

Silence filled the room.

Victor stood and walked toward the window. For several seconds, he said nothing. When he finally turned back, his expression had changed. He looked less like my husband and more like a businessman trying to negotiate a problem neither of us could afford to mishandle.

"Mara is scared."

I almost laughed.

"You keep talking about her."

"Because she's carrying my child."

"And I'm your wife."

"I know."

"Do you?"

Victor closed his eyes briefly.

"I don't want you to think I'm choosing this over you."

I stared at him.

"Then what are you choosing?"

He didn't answer immediately.

That silence was enough.

I stood from the bed and walked toward the dresser. My reflection looked strangely unfamiliar. I looked calm, composed, almost detached, even though my chest felt hollow.

Victor came up behind me.

"Eleanor."

I didn't turn around.

"I hope you can understand."

His voice was gentle.

Almost pleading.

"This child hasn't done anything wrong."