Chapter 6
“You’re asking me to believe you discovered this now?”
“I’m not asking you to believe anything.
I’m telling you.”
“Our divorce has been ugly.”
“Yes.”
“My attorneys told you yesterday that I’m not changing the property agreement.”
I couldn’t understand what he was implying.
Then I did.
And something inside me broke.
“You think I’m lying.”
“I think the timing is convenient.”
I stared through the rain-dark window.
“I’m carrying your child.”
“How do I know that?”
My breath disappeared.
Declan continued, too calm.
“You left.
You refused reconciliation.
Then the financial negotiations stopped going your way, and suddenly there’s a pregnancy?”
“I never asked you for more money.”
“Maybe someone advised you differently.”
That hurt more than anything he had said during our marriage.
“I called because I thought you deserved to know.”
“Then take a test.”
“A pregnancy test?”
“A paternity test.
When medically appropriate.”
I whispered, “You know what?
Forget it.”
“Cassidy.”
“No.”
“Don’t be dramatic.”
I laughed through tears.
“Three minutes ago you accused me of using an unborn baby to extort you, and I’m dramatic?”
“I said we need facts.”
“Here’s a fact.
You’re exactly why I left.”
I hung up.
He called back twice.
I didn’t answer.
The next morning, however, I woke up ashamed.
Not because I had done anything wrong.
Because the child—children, though I didn’t know that yet—deserved more than wounded pride.
So I called him again.
No answer.
I left a voicemail.
“Declan, it’s Cassidy.
I’m sorry I hung up.
I have an ultrasound Friday.
If you want to come, you can.
I’ll send the details.”
That afternoon I texted the appointment information.
No response.
Friday arrived.
I sat in the clinic waiting room for forty-seven minutes.
He never came.
The technician found three heartbeats.
I sent him the image.
No response.
I tried again the following week.
The call went directly to voicemail.
Again.
Finally, I received a text.
Please communicate regarding the divorce through counsel.
That was it.
I showed Amelia.
She wanted to drive to Buckhead and run Declan over with her Honda.
Instead, I cried.
Then I stopped calling.
Two months later, during mediation, I asked my attorney if Declan had mentioned the pregnancy.
She frowned.
“What pregnancy?”
That should have warned me.
But I was tired.
Sick.
Carrying triplets.
I assumed Declan had decided he wanted nothing to do with us.
So I signed the divorce.