CHAPTER SEVEN
AUbrEE
The specialist appointment request came over breakfast, delivered with the casual cruelty of someone who had no idea they were twisting a knife.
"So the maternal-fetal medicine office called yesterday," Oakleigh said, stirring honey into her herbal tea.
She was wearing one of those flowy bohemian tops that made her look like she'd stepped out of a pregnancy magazine, her blonde hair cascading over her shoulders in effortless waves.
"They want to do a more detailed scan because of the placenta thing. It's scheduled for Thursday at two."
I looked up from my yogurt, already reaching for my phone to check my calendar. "Thursday works for me. I can move my afternoon client consultation."
"Oh." Oakleigh's spoon paused mid-stir. "Actually, I was kind of hoping Tristen could come to this one."
The words landed in my stomach like ice water.
"Just Tristen?" I heard myself ask.
"It's not that I don't want you there," she said quickly, her blue eyes wide with what looked like genuine concern.
"It's just that these specialist appointments are really intense, you know?
They look at everything so closely, and last time I got really anxious and my blood pressure spiked.
The doctor said I need to stay as calm as possible. "
I waited for the part where this explained why I couldn't come.
"And Tristen just has this really calming presence," Oakleigh continued, glancing over at my husband, who was standing at the kitchen counter reading something on his tablet.
"When he talks me through the breathing exercises, my whole body just relaxes.
I don't know how to explain it. He makes me feel safe. "
My fingers tightened around my spoon so hard the metal edge bit into my palm.
Tristen looked up from his tablet, and I watched his face cycle through several expressions in rapid succession. Surprise. Discomfort. And then something that looked almost like guilt before he smoothed it into neutrality.
"I'm sure Aubree's presence would be just as calming," he said carefully.
"Of course it would," Oakleigh agreed, nodding vigorously.
"I'm not saying it wouldn't. I just know she already has so much going on with her business, and I didn't want to add more stress to her plate.
She's been working so hard on the Katz project, and I heard her on that call yesterday sounding so overwhelmed. "
She'd heard me on that call. Because she lived in my house now. Because she was always here, always present, always inserting herself into the fabric of my life while simultaneously pushing me out of it.
"I can reschedule the Katz consultation," I said, keeping my voice even through sheer force of will. "This is more important."
"Are you sure? I really don't want to be a burden."
Then stop acting like one, I wanted to scream. Stop calling my husband in the middle of the night. Stop touching his arm when you talk to him. Stop looking at him like he hung the moon while I'm standing right fucking here.
But I didn't say any of that. Because what kind of monster would I be if I prioritized my feelings over a high-risk pregnancy? What kind of future mother would that make me?
"You're not a burden," I said instead, the words tasting like ash in my mouth. "We're a team. All three of us."
Oakleigh's face broke into a relieved smile. "You're so sweet, Aubree. Seriously, I don't know how I got so lucky with you guys."
She reached across the table and squeezed my hand, and her touch felt like sandpaper against my skin. I smiled back at her, feeling the muscles in my face strain with the effort.
"I'm going to go shower," Oakleigh announced, pushing back from the table. "The hot water really helps with the morning aches. Tristen, can you remind me later about the breathing exercises? I want to practice before Thursday."
"Sure," Tristen said, still not looking at me.
I watched her disappear down the hallway toward the guest suite, her hips swaying slightly beneath that flowing top. She moved like someone who had never doubted her place in the world. Like someone who belonged exactly where she was.
The moment her door clicked shut, I turned to Tristen.
"She wants you to go alone."
He set down his tablet and finally met my eyes. "That's not what she said. She said she wants me there because I help her stay calm."
"And what am I supposed to do? Sit here and wait for updates like some distant relative?"
"Aubree, come on. Don't make this into something it's not."
The dismissal in his voice made my stomach clench. "Don't make this into something it's not? She just asked my husband to attend our baby's medical appointment without me because apparently my presence is too stressful."
"That's not what she meant."
"Then what did she mean, Tristen? Please, explain it to me, because from where I'm sitting, it feels like I'm being slowly edged out of my own pregnancy."
He ran a hand through his dark hair, frustration tightening the lines around his mouth. "She's scared. She's carrying a high-risk pregnancy and she's scared, and she latched onto someone who makes her feel safe. That's not a crime."
"No, it's not a crime. But it is a pattern.
" I stood up from the table, my chair scraping loudly against the floor.
"First she texts you directly instead of the group chat.
Then she calls you in the middle of the night.
Then she asks you to make decisions about scheduling without involving me.
And now she wants you at medical appointments alone. Do you not see what's happening here?"
"I see a woman who's terrified of losing the baby we're all counting on. I see someone who needs support and reassurance."
"And I see my husband choosing another woman's comfort over his wife's feelings."
The words hung between us, heavy and sharp. Tristen's jaw clenched, and for a moment he looked almost angry. Actually angry, which was rare for him. He usually smoothed everything over, played peacekeeper, found the diplomatic solution that made everyone happy.
"That's not fair," he said quietly.
"Isn't it?" I stepped closer to him, my heart pounding against my ribs. "When was the last time you left dinner to comfort me for forty-five minutes? When was the last time you sat with me until one in the morning talking me through my fears?"
Something flickered in his eyes. Guilt. Recognition. He knew exactly what I was talking about, which meant he knew I'd figured out the late-night calls weren't work-related.
"She's alone, Aubree. She doesn't have anyone else."
"She has both of us. Or at least she's supposed to. But somehow it always ends up being just you."
"Because you made it clear you weren't comfortable with her being here in the first place. She can feel that, you know. She's not stupid. She knows you resent her presence."
The accusation hit me like a slap across the face. My cheeks flushed hot with shame and fury.
"I don't resent her presence. I resent being made to feel like a stranger in my own marriage."
"Nobody is making you feel anything. You're choosing to interpret everything in the worst possible way."
"Am I? Am I really?" I grabbed my phone off the table and opened the text thread with Oakleigh.
"Let me check our messages real quick. Oh wait, there aren't any recent ones, because she doesn't text me anymore.
She texts you. She calls you. She asks for you.
And you just go along with it because God forbid you set a boundary that might upset her. "
Tristen's face darkened. "The doctor said stress is dangerous for the pregnancy. What am I supposed to do, tell her to handle her panic attacks alone?"
"No. You're supposed to include your wife in the process. You're supposed to remember that this is our baby, not yours and Oakleigh's."
"Jesus Christ, Aubree." He turned away from me, bracing his hands against the kitchen counter.
His shoulders were rigid with tension, his knuckles white where they gripped the marble edge.
"I'm trying to keep everyone calm. I'm trying to make sure this pregnancy succeeds.
Everything I'm doing is for us, for our family. "
"Then why does it feel like you're building a family with her instead of me?"
Silence.
The question hung in the air, too big and too honest for either of us to look at directly. I watched Tristen's back, watched the way his breath shuddered through him, and I knew I'd said something we couldn't unsay.
"I'm going to the appointment on Thursday," I said quietly. "I'm the intended mother. I have every right to be there."
"Fine." His voice was flat. "Fine, come to the appointment. But try to remember that Oakleigh is doing us a favor. She's putting her body through hell so we can have a child. The least we can do is make her feel supported."
The least we can do. Like I hadn't been bending over backward for weeks trying to make this work. Like I hadn't swallowed my discomfort every time she touched my husband's arm or laughed too long at his jokes or found excuses to be alone with him.
"I'm going out," I said.
"Where?"
"To see Collette. I need to talk to someone who actually listens to me."
The words were cruel and I knew it. But I was too hurt to care. Too angry to filter myself the way I'd been doing for weeks, stuffing down every uncomfortable feeling because expressing them might make me seem jealous or petty or unreasonable.
I grabbed my purse and my keys and walked out the front door without looking back.
The drive to Collette's apartment took thirty minutes, and I spent every second of it replaying the argument in my head. Analyzing it. Picking apart every word Tristen had said and cataloging all the ways he'd made me feel small and crazy and wrong for having completely valid feelings.
She can feel that, you know. She knows you resent her presence.
Did I resent Oakleigh's presence? Honestly, truly, if I stripped away all the justifications and defenses?
Yes. I did.