Chapter 2
The next morning, Mark was gone.
He’d left a crumpled note on the hospital chair, his handwriting messy and sharp.
I’m staying at the downtown hotel until the test results come back. Don’t call me.
I crumpled the note up and threw it in the trash can by the bed, my throat burning.
Down the hall, I could hear other new dads laughing, cooing at their babies, bringing their wives coffee and flowers.
Every sound felt like a knife in my chest.
An hour later, Eleanor showed up.
She had dark circles under her eyes, her hair was half undone, and she was carrying a paper cup of my favorite smoothie, like that could fix what her son had done.
“Lila,” she said, her voice cracking as she stepped into the room. “I am so, so sorry. Mark is… he’s not thinking straight. He’s just scared.”
I stared at her, holding our son tighter to my chest.
“Scared?” I said. “Or did someone put that stupid idea in his head?”
Her face flinched, just a little, so fast I almost missed it.
She set the smoothie down on the table, her hands shaking so bad some sloshed over the side.
“No one put anything in his head,” she said, too fast. “He’s just being an idiot. Please, Lila, don’t file for divorce yet. Just wait for the results. Please.”
I leaned back against the pillows, my eyes locked on hers.
“What are you hiding, Eleanor?”
Her breath caught.
She looked away, at the wall, at the floor, anywhere but at me.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
Before I could press her, my mom walked in, her face tight with anger when she saw Eleanor.
My mom didn’t say a word.
She just walked over, kissed my forehead, and gave Eleanor a look so cold Eleanor practically ran for the door.
She left without another word.
That afternoon, Mark’s best friend Jake showed up.
Jake had been in Mark’s life since college.
He was at our wedding.
He’d helped us paint the nursery two months ago.
He pulled a chair up next to the bed, his face full of fake concern, and reached out to touch my arm.
I pulled away.
“Lila, I’m so sorry about Mark,” he said, his voice soft. “He’s just been under so much stress at work. He didn’t mean any of it. I’m trying to talk some sense into him.”
I stared at his wrist.
He had a thin, pale scar snaking around his left wrist, like an old cut.
I’d seen that exact same scar a hundred times on Eleanor’s left wrist.
She always rubbed it when she was nervous, when she was hiding something.
Jake caught me staring and pulled his sleeve down fast, a flicker of something dark crossing his face before he smiled again.
That smile didn’t reach his eyes.
A cold chill ran down my spine.
Mark didn’t come up with that DNA test idea on his own.
May you like
Jake did.
And Eleanor knew exactly why.
