Chapter 5 #2
“I’ve spent eight years loving you.” My voice cracked for the first time.
“Eight years trying to build a family with you. Eight years believing we knew each other better than anyone else ever could.” I blinked rapidly.
“I finally get pregnant, and your first instinct is that it might belong to someone else.”
Patrick looked devastated.
“It wasn’t my first instinct.”
“Maybe not.” I held his eyes. “But it became one.”
Neither of us spoke. The silence between us no longer felt uncertain. It felt broken.
Patrick reached toward me. I instinctively leaned back before he could touch me. The movement lasted less than a second. His hand froze in midair. Neither of us pretended not to notice. He slowly lowered it to the countertop.
“I love you,” he whispered.
I believed him. That was the tragedy. I believed every word, and somehow it wasn’t enough to erase the question he’d asked.
Patrick stayed where he was, his hand resting uselessly on the countertop between us.
“I shouldn’t have asked it like that.”
I looked at him quietly.
“I shouldn’t have asked it at all,” he corrected, his voice barely above a whisper.
The apology came quickly. Too quickly, as though he believed finding the right words might somehow put everything back where it belonged.
“I’m scared, Naomi.”
I closed my eyes for a second. There it was. The explanation.
“I know how impossible this sounds.”
“You don’t.”
“I do.”
“No,” I said softly, opening my eyes again. “You don’t.”
He stood slowly, keeping a cautious distance.
“I’ve wanted this baby as much as you have.”
“I know.”
“When Dustin said what he said, it got into my head.”
“I know.”
“I hate that it did.”
“I know.”
His shoulders sagged.
“I’ve watched you suffer for years.”
“I know.”
“I’ve watched you blame yourself for something that was never your fault.” His voice cracked. “I’ve prayed for this baby.”
“So did I.”
“I love you.”
The words landed gently. They should have reached me. Instead they floated somewhere outside the room, unable to cross the distance between us.
“I know you do.”
He frowned.
“Then please don’t leave.”
Leave. I hadn’t realized I was thinking about it until he said the word.
I looked down at the countertop, at our mugs. His coffee was still steaming. Mine had gone completely cold. A painfully ordinary evening, one that had somehow become the worst night of our marriage.
“I wasn’t worried because Dustin questioned me.” Patrick stared at me. “I expect strangers to misunderstand me. I even expect acquaintances to make bad assumptions sometimes.” I swallowed. “But you were supposed to know me.”
“I do know you.”
“Do you?”
He opened his mouth. Nothing came out.
I nodded once.
“That’s the answer.”
His face tightened.
“Naomi, please.”
“The worst part isn’t that you doubted me.” My hand drifted instinctively to my stomach. “It isn’t even that you asked.” Tears stung my eyes, but they refused to fall. “The worst part is that another man questioned my character, and my husband couldn’t find a single reason to defend me.”
His expression crumpled.
“I wanted to.”
“But you didn’t.”
“I was shocked.”
“So was I.”
“I didn’t know what to say.”
“You could have said, ‘That’s not my wife.’ You could have said, ‘You don’t know Naomi.’” His eyes filled. “You could have laughed because the idea was ridiculous.”
Every word came quietly. No anger, no raised voice, only grief.
“But instead,” I said, shaking my head, “you let the question become yours.”
Patrick reached for me again. This time he stopped himself before his hand crossed the space between us.
“I’m sorry.”
“I know.”
“I’ll spend the rest of my life making this right.” His voice broke. “I swear I will.”
I believed he meant it. That was the cruelest part. He wasn’t lying. He wasn’t manipulating me. He genuinely regretted asking. But regret couldn’t unsay the words, couldn’t erase the hesitation, couldn’t give me back the certainty I’d walked into this house carrying.
Slowly, I picked up my purse from the back of the chair. Patrick watched every movement.
“What are you doing?”
I didn’t answer. I opened the zipper. My fingers found the small white envelope. For one perfect day, I’d imagined handing it to him with laughter, watching him discover he was going to be a father.
Instead, I held it against my chest for a moment before slipping it carefully into my coat pocket.
Patrick’s eyes followed the movement.
“What’s that?”
I couldn’t tell him. Not tonight. Not after this.
My left hand drifted to my wedding ring. The gold band had lived there for eight years. I’d twisted it absentmindedly while reading, tapped it against coffee mugs, watched it catch the sunlight on vacations. It had become so much a part of me that removing it felt strangely unfamiliar.
I eased it over my knuckle.
Patrick’s eyes widened.
“Naomi...”
I walked to the island. His coffee mug sat exactly where he’d left it. Without a word, I placed the ring beside it. The quiet click of gold against stone echoed through the kitchen.
“No.” He took an instinctive step forward. “No, don’t do this.”
I looked at him one last time.
“I need to be somewhere I don’t have to wonder whether the person who loves me believes the worst about me.”
“I don’t.”
“You did.”
His face folded with anguish.
“It was one question.”
“It was one question that should never have existed.”
I turned toward the front door.
“Naomi.” His voice followed me. “Please.”
I didn’t stop. Behind me, I heard his footsteps begin, then falter. He knew. If he touched me now, I’d only pull away.
My hand closed around the doorknob. I opened the door. Cool evening air rushed into the house. For a heartbeat, I stood there with the ultrasound picture tucked safely inside my coat and my wedding ring resting beside his untouched coffee.
Then I stepped outside. The door closed softly behind me. The sound was barely louder than a whisper.
It still felt like the loudest thing I’d ever heard.