Chapter Four
“Look at this one.”
I shove the printed message directly into Claire’s face.
It feels like I have a part of you inside me.
I read it out loud before widening my eyes dramatically to make my point.
“Yes, bitch,” I snap at the paper like Laila can somehow hear me. “You do have a part of him inside you. It’s called the baby you’re carrying. Which, by the way, is also a part of me.”
“Okay,” Claire says calmly.
I stare at her in disbelief while she casually washes paintbrushes in the sink.
“Is that not enough?” I demand.
She raises one eyebrow.
I let out a frustrated sigh. “It’s not the worst one,” I admit. “But they’re all like this. Constantly toeing the line without technically crossing it.”
“I’d argue that crossed the line beautifully,” Claire says dryly, wiping her hands on her apron.
She’s wearing a yellow sundress today with a floral apron tied around her waist. Very retro housewife. Which honestly feels ironic considering I know she’s anything but.
Claire picks up another printed page from the stack beside me.
The photos are terrible.
Some blurry. Some crooked. Some repeated because my hands were shaking too badly to tell if I’d captured them properly.
But they’re readable.
That’s what matters.
The second I unlocked Brad’s phone last night; I knew screenshots were too risky. If he found those in recently deleted photos or cloud backups, I’d never be able to explain it away.
So instead, I sat there in the dark scrolling through thousands of messages between them while taking pictures of his screen with my own phone.
It took forever.
And honestly? I fully expected to stay up all night reading through every single one beside him in bed.
Instead, the second I put his phone back and laid down, exhaustion knocked me unconscious instantly.
Then this morning I printed everything.
And somewhere around page thirty-nine, the rage really started settling in.
Because it’s not just weird texts like this one.
Laila texted him when the baby kicked for the first time.
When she had heartburn.
When Google convinced her heartburn meant the baby would have a full head of hair.
There are normal messages too.
Can I eat Cheerios every day?
Is expired milk dangerous?
My ankle looks swollen, should I worry?
Individually, they’re innocent.
Brad’s a doctor. Of course she’d ask him things. But she could’ve texted the group chat with all three of us.
She used to, in the beginning.
Now it’s just him. Always him.
She really iced me out of my own baby’s life before it’s even born.
Claire called while I was halfway through reading everything this morning, and the second she heard my voice, she invited me over.
Which is how I ended up here.
Sitting cross-legged on her worktable surrounded by the printed evidence which still doesn’t feel enough while she quietly cleans brushes around me.
At first I’d hoped she’d sit down and go through the messages with me.
But honestly?
Watching Claire move calmly around the studio is weirdly soothing.
Like one of those little office waterfalls rich people buy to pretend they’re relaxed.
“Have you read all of them?” Claire asks, pulling me from my thoughts.
“No,” I sigh, laying back dramatically across the table. I stretch my legs out with a groan as my knees crack loudly. “There are so many.”
Shifting sideways, I prop my head up on my bent elbow and stare at Claire.
“Do you think it’s bad that I’m kind of hoping to find something awful?” I ask quietly.
Claire tilts her head at me.
I wave a hand gesturing vaguely. “Like an ‘I don’t regret the sex’ text. Or a ‘sext.’ Something undeniable.”
Claire purses her lips thoughtfully. “It may be bad for your marriage.”
I let out a short laugh. At this point I don’t even know what would be good. I should be happy there’s no evidence, not weary.
Then she takes a breath. “Are you…” she stops trailing off.
“Oh, come on,” I interrupt with a grin. “Don’t go polite on me now.”
Claire rolls her eyes. “Fine. Why are you doing this?”
“I told you.” I sit up straighter. “I want to know if my husband is screwing our surrogate.”
“But you realize,” she says carefully, “that this is it, right? If part of you is hoping he’s cheating… then in your mind, your marriage is already over.”
I open my mouth. Then close it again. “I don’t…” I start weakly.
Claire gives me a look.
The exact same one my mother used to give me whenever I claimed I had a “group project” but was actually sneaking into my boyfriend’s bedroom to make out.
I clear my throat. “Do you have kids?”
Claire doesn’t even look surprised by the subject change.
“I have two,” she answers easily. “Angel lives in Kileen with his wife, and Gemma’s stationed at Camp Mabry.”
My eyes light up slightly. “I’m from Austin.”
“Really?”
I grin before putting on the most exaggerated Texas accent imaginable.
“Well now, not all of us sound like this,” I drawl dramatically.
Claire bursts out laughing.
“My sister still lives there with her husband,” I continue normally. “And my parents’ house is still there too, even if they spend most of their time traveling now.”
Claire smiles wistfully. “That must be nice.”
Guilt immediately pricks at me. “I’m sorry.”
She waves the apology away instantly. “My kids beg me to come visit all the time, but…” She shrugs lightly. “I don’t want to impose.”
“If they’re asking, I don’t think you’d be imposing.”
She smiles softly.
“I mean it,” I insist. “I’d love my parents here right now. They’d come immediately if I called. But I don’t want to impose either.”
Claire snorts. “What idiots we are.”
I smile back before my expression slowly fades.
“I miss home,” I admit quietly. “Don’t get me wrong, LA is great. But Austin…” I shake my head. “That’s home. That’s where I thought I’d raise my kids.”
“Then why not go back?”
“Brad would never agree to it.” I shrug. “And neither would his family.”
“They get an opinion?”
“They don’t for me,” I say honestly. “But Brad and I both loved our hometowns, and when we got married we decided a neutral place would be better. LA had better opportunities for him, and we liked the idea of being independent.”
“You don’t like it anymore?”
“I love it here,” I say automatically before hesitating. “But lately independent just feels like another word for alone.”
Claire goes quiet at that.
“Where’s Brad’s family from?”
“Albany. Upstate New York.” I laugh weakly. “He has four brothers and one sister.”
Claire’s eyebrows shoot up. “Jesus.”
“Right? Anyway, they’re all still there and ridiculously close. Brad’s the only one who left, and they already resent that. If we moved to Austin instead…” I make a dramatic explosion noise with my mouth. “His mother already hates me.”
Claire grimaces knowingly. “Oh God. Is she one of those mothers?”
“It wasn’t always like that.” I stare down at the papers in front of me. “We were actually close for years. Not best friends exactly, but… family.”
The word catches in my throat.
Then I sigh.
“We found out I couldn’t carry a pregnancy after I miscarried in 2019.”
The words leave my mouth so quietly I almost don’t recognize them.
For a second, I go completely still. Because I’ve never actually said that out loud before.
Not fully.
My family knows about the fertility issues. Brad’s family too. But the miscarriage itself somehow became this ugly little thing we buried immediately afterward. Something painful and private and easier not to touch.
Even now, admitting it makes my chest feel strangely exposed.
Claire doesn’t say I’m sorry.
Instead, she quietly reaches over and takes my hand where it’s resting beside the scattered papers.
I squeeze her hand once before letting go and quickly wiping under my eyes.
“Anyway,” I continue, forcing a laugh, “it happened right before Christmas, and I really didn’t want to go visit his family afterward, but Brad convinced me.”
My stomach twists at the memory.
“And the second we got there it was nonstop. ‘When are you giving me grandbabies?’ ‘I want more grandchildren before I’m too old to enjoy them.’”
I roll my eyes bitterly.
“We hadn’t told anyone about the miscarriage. Or my fertility issues. And she just kept pushing and pushing and pushing until finally…”
Claire winces slightly. “What happened?”
I groan, covering my face. “I yelled that the only grandchild I could give her was a dead one.”
Claire physically recoils. “Oh. Jesus.”
“I know.” I drop my hands. “It was horrific.”
“Wait.” Claire frowns. “So she resents you because of that?”
I nod incredulously. “She said I humiliated her in front of the family and owed her an apology.”
“What the fuck?” Claire blurts loudly.
I can’t help laughing at her reaction.
“She felt we should’ve told her about the miscarriage beforehand,” I explain. “So she wouldn’t make a fool of herself asking about babies.”
Claire stares at me. “So she acted like a fool and somehow made that your fault?”
“Pretty much.” I shrug weakly.
Claire mutters something under her breath that definitely sounds like psychopath.
Then she looks back at me thoughtfully.
“So,” she says slowly, “now that there’s potentially a chance… would you want to move home?”
I shake my head automatically.
“Even if Brad and I…” I struggle over the word before forcing it out. “End. There’s no way he’d agree to move to Texas.”
“He would if he thought your marriage still had a chance,” Claire says like it’s the most obvious thing in the world.
I blink at her before leaning my chin on my bent fist.
“Are you saying I should manipulate my husband into moving back home?”
Claire shrugs unapologetically.
“All the things you’ve told me? Even without cheating, the way he’s handled this surrogacy and shut you out…” She wipes her hands on her apron again. “Frankly, he deserves a little manipulation.”
I look down at my hands resting in my lap.
At my wedding ring.
“We were happy,” I say quietly. “You know… before Laila.”
The words sound pathetic the second they leave my mouth, but they’re true.
“Everyone always says fertility treatments destroy marriages,” I continue softly. “But they didn’t destroy ours. We were fine.”
I think about the injections and the appointments and the nights I cried so hard I couldn’t breathe properly.
Brad had held me through all of it. Even after the miscarriage. Even after the fight with his mother.
I know he loves his family, especially her, but he never once made me feel like I owed anyone forgiveness let alone an apology for what I said. He defended me every single time the topic came up afterward.
That’s the part making this so hard.
Because cruel men don’t usually spend years being gentle first.
Claire watches me carefully.
“Are you saying what I think you’re saying?”
I avoid her eyes immediately, ashamed even as I admit it.
“Maybe after the baby’s born, things will be different.” I swallow hard. “Or not different. Maybe he’ll go back to being… him.”
Claire is quiet for a moment.
Then she asks softly, “Will you?”
I look up.
“Will you be able to forget?” she clarifies. “To forgive?”
I bite the inside of my lip instead of answering. Because I know she’s not asking for her benefit.
She’s asking so I actually think about it.
Am I the kind of woman who could forgive this?
And even if I am…
What guarantees that Brad would actually want us back?