CHAPTER TWO
TRISTEN
I couldn't stop looking at the ultrasound image on my phone.
It was just a blob. A tiny, grainy, black-and-white blob that could have been anything.
A smudge on the lens. A printing error. But it wasn't any of those things.
It was my child. Mine and Aubree's. A microscopic collection of cells that would eventually become a person with thoughts and feelings and a whole life stretching out ahead of them.
I zoomed in on the image for the hundredth time, trying to make out details that weren't there yet. A head. Limbs. Something recognizably human. But it was too early for any of that. Right now, our baby was just potential. Pure, terrifying, magnificent potential.
"Mr. Wickham? Your three o'clock is here."
I looked up to find my assistant, Ciara, standing in my office doorway with a tablet clutched against her chest. She was giving me that look she always gave me when she caught me being sentimental. Part amusement, part exasperation.
"Send them in," I said, pocketing my phone. "And hold my calls for the rest of the afternoon."
"Even Mrs. Wickham?"
"Aubree can always get through. Everyone else can wait."
Ciara nodded and disappeared, and I forced myself to shift gears from expecting father to CEO. It wasn't easy. My brain kept drifting back to that ultrasound, to the lunch yesterday with Aubree and Oakleigh, to the way Aubree's eyes had filled with tears when she saw the heartbeat on the screen.
God, I loved that woman. I loved her so much it scared me sometimes.
The meeting dragged on for two hours. Budget projections and expansion plans and a dozen other things that usually held my attention completely but today felt like white noise. I nodded in the right places and asked the right questions, but half my mind was somewhere else entirely.
I was thinking about Oakleigh.
Not in a romantic way. Jesus, not even close. But I was thinking about everything she was doing for us, everything she was sacrificing. Her body, her comfort, her time. She was literally growing a human being inside her so that Aubree and I could become parents.
How did you even begin to thank someone for something like that?
The answer, I decided, was that you couldn't. Not with words, anyway.
The only thing I could do was make this experience as easy as possible for her.
Remove every obstacle, anticipate every need, ensure that she never had to worry about anything except staying healthy and bringing our baby safely into the world.
It was the least I could do. The absolute fucking minimum.
After the meeting ended and my office finally emptied, I pulled out my phone and opened the group chat with Aubree and Oakleigh. There was a new message from Oakleigh, sent about an hour ago.
Just had some crackers and ginger ale. The nausea is getting a little worse but the doctor says it's a good sign. Strong pregnancy hormones!
Aubree had already responded with a string of heart emojis and a recommendation for a specific brand of anti-nausea tea that had helped her during her own pregnancies. The pregnancies that hadn't lasted. The ones we didn't talk about anymore because the grief was still too raw.
I typed out a quick reply: Let us know if you need anything. Anything at all.
Oakleigh's response came immediately: You're so sweet. I'm fine, I promise. Just part of the process!
I stared at the screen, feeling that overwhelming gratitude swell in my chest again.
This woman, this relative stranger, was going through physical misery for us.
She was puking her guts out and popping crackers and dealing with hormones that made her feel like garbage, all so that Aubree and I could hold a baby in our arms.
I needed to do more.
I opened my contacts and called my personal shopper at Nordstrom.
"I need a care package put together. Comfortable clothes, nice loungewear, whatever pregnant women need to feel good.
High-end stuff, no budget limit. And throw in some spa gift cards, maybe a massage membership.
Something she can use throughout the pregnancy. "
The shopper, a woman named Monica who had been handling my family's accounts for years, promised to have something ready by the end of the week. I thanked her and hung up, feeling slightly better.
It still wasn't enough. But it was a start.
Aubree was already in bed when I got home, her dark hair spread across the pillow like spilled ink. She looked peaceful in a way she hadn't in years, the worry lines on her forehead smoothed out in sleep.
I stood in the doorway for a long moment, just watching her breathe.
Four years. We'd been trying for four years, and in that time, I'd watched the woman I loved slowly crumble under the weight of grief and failure.
Every negative pregnancy test. Every miscarriage.
Every well-meaning friend who asked when they were going to hear good news.
It had all chipped away at her, piece by piece, until sometimes I barely recognized the confident, vibrant woman I'd married.
The fertility treatments had been brutal. The hormones made her moody and bloated and desperately unhappy with her body. She'd gained weight that she couldn't seem to lose, and no matter how many times I told her she was beautiful, I could see in her eyes that she didn't believe me.
I hated it. I hated watching her hate herself. I hated that something I wanted, something we wanted, had caused her so much pain.
But now, finally, there was hope. Oakleigh was pregnant. The baby was healthy. And if I could just keep everything calm and controlled and free from stress, maybe Aubree could finally start to heal.
I crossed the room quietly and slid into bed beside her. She stirred when the mattress dipped, her blue eyes fluttering open.
"Hey," she murmured sleepily. "What time is it?"
"Late. Sorry. The meeting ran over."
She shifted closer, tucking herself against my side with her head on my chest. I wrapped my arm around her automatically, pulling her in tight. She smelled like that lavender lotion she always used before bed, and underneath it, something that was just her. Warm skin and clean sheets and home.
"I missed you," she said, her words muffled against my shirt.
"I missed you too." I pressed a kiss to the top of her head. "How was your day?"
"Good. I ordered those wallpaper samples we talked about. And I had a really productive call with the Katz clients about the sage green crisis."
"Did you convince them to pick a real color?"
"I convinced them to pay extra for a custom dye job. Same thing, basically."
I laughed softly, and I felt her smile against my chest. This was what I'd been missing for so long. This easy intimacy. This sense that we were partners again instead of two people drowning side by side.
"Oakleigh texted the group chat today," I said carefully. "Said the nausea is getting worse."
Aubree lifted her head to look at me. "I saw. I sent her some tea recommendations. Poor thing."
"I had Monica put together a care package for her. Some comfortable clothes, spa stuff. I figured it might help."
Something flickered across Aubree's face. Not quite displeasure, but something close to it. "That's nice of you."
"She's going through a lot. I just want her to feel supported."
"Of course." Aubree laid her head back down, but I could feel a new tension in her body. "It's very thoughtful."
I should have asked what was wrong. I should have pushed, made her tell me what she was really thinking. But the truth was, I didn't want to know. I didn't want to have a conversation about boundaries and appropriate gifts and whether I was being too attentive to another woman.
Because I wasn't doing anything wrong. I was being grateful. I was taking care of the person who was taking care of our child. That was it. That was all.
And if Aubree had concerns, well, I could handle them. I could smooth things over, manage her worries, protect her from anything that might cause her unnecessary stress.
That was my job as her husband. To carry the burdens she couldn't see.
The call came three days later, while I was in the middle of a board meeting.
My phone buzzed with Oakleigh's name, and I excused myself immediately, stepping into the hallway with my heart hammering against my ribs.
"Oakleigh? What's wrong?"
"Nothing's wrong." Her voice was calm, but I could hear the tremor underneath. "I just had a doctor's appointment, and they found something they want to monitor. It's not a big deal, probably nothing, but they're classifying the pregnancy as high-risk now."
The floor tilted beneath my feet. High-risk. The words slammed into me like a fist to the gut.
"What did they find?"
"Some irregularities with my blood pressure. And there's a small issue with the placenta positioning, but the doctor said it usually resolves on its own. They just want to keep a closer eye on things."
I pressed my free hand against the wall, steadying myself. "What do you need? Do you need me to come to the clinic? I can be there in twenty minutes."
"No, no. I'm fine, I promise. I'm already home. I just wanted to let you know because they said I should avoid stress as much as possible. Apparently stress can make everything worse."
Stress. Right. Of course.
"Okay," I said slowly, my mind already racing through solutions. "We're going to make sure you have everything you need. No stress, no worries. Whatever you want, you got it."
"Thank you, Tristen. Really. That means a lot."
"Should I tell Aubree, or do you want to do it together?"
There was a pause. Just a beat too long.
"Actually," Oakleigh said carefully, "I was wondering if maybe we could wait a few days before telling her? I don't want her to panic over something that's probably nothing. She's been so happy lately, and I'd hate to ruin that."
I thought about Aubree's face when she saw the ultrasound. The tears in her eyes. The hope that had finally, finally started to bloom again after years of darkness.
"Yeah," I heard myself say. "Yeah, that makes sense. Let's wait until we know more."
"You're the best. Seriously, Tristen. Aubree is so lucky to have you."
I said goodbye and hung up, but I stood in that hallway for a long time afterward, staring at the blank screen of my phone.
I'm just protecting her, I told myself. Aubree has been through so much. She doesn't need to worry about something that might turn out to be nothing.
It was the right thing to do. The kind thing.
She would understand, if she ever found out. She would know that I was just trying to spare her pain.
But even as I thought it, something uncomfortable twisted in my stomach. A voice in the back of my head that sounded suspiciously like my own, asking when exactly protecting someone had started to look so much like lying to them.
I pushed the voice away and walked back into my meeting.
There would be time to tell Aubree later. When there was something concrete to tell. When the doctors knew more and I could present her with facts instead of fears.
For now, I would carry this alone. The way I always did.
It was better that way. Safer.
And if a small part of me knew that I was making a mistake, well, I ignored that too.