Chapter 14
For once in my life, I did not want anyone to know.
No driver waiting outside.
No assistant.
No press team.
No company car.
Just me.
When the door opened, Clara walked in carrying the baby seat.
I stood too quickly.
She looked different.
Not dramatically.
That was the frightening part.
She looked like Clara.
Same brown hair.
Same small crease between her eyebrows.
Same pale coat she had worn for three winters.
But the way she looked at me had changed completely.
I had spent eight years being reflected in her eyes.
Husband.
Partner.
Annoying man who left coffee cups everywhere.
Person she loved.
That day I was something else.
A risk being evaluated.
“Hi,” I said.
She did not answer immediately.
Then: “Hi.”
My eyes dropped to the carrier.
Noah was asleep.
A blue cap covered his head.
His tiny mouth was open.
Everything inside me hurt.
“Is he all right?”
“Yes.”
“Completely?”
“He’s fine.”
“What did the doctor say?”
“He had a fever. They monitored him. It came down.”
Her voice sharpened slightly.
“He needed to be checked, Ethan. So I took him.”
“I know.”
“You didn’t.”
“I know.”
She looked at me.
That sentence had become my vocabulary.
I know.
I’m sorry.
I understand.
None of them were enough, but at least they did not fight reality.
“Can I hold him?”
Clara’s hands tightened around the carrier handle.
That almost destroyed me.
My wife had once trusted me with her body, her passwords, her fears, her future.
Now she hesitated to hand me my own son.
“I washed my hands,” I said stupidly.
Something moved across her face.
Grief, perhaps.
“Sit down.”
I did.
She lifted Noah carefully.
He stirred.
Made a small sound.
Then she placed him in my arms.
I froze.
“You need to support his head.”
“I am.”
“Higher.”
I adjusted my hand.
Noah shifted against me.
His face turned toward my chest.
He smelled exactly like the blanket I had carried through the apartment after they left.
Milk.
Powder.
Warm cotton.
Something sweet and alive.
I stared at him.
“I’m sorry,” I whispered.
Clara looked away.
I was not even sure whether I had spoken to her or him.
Noah’s fingers opened.
Closed.
His hand caught the front of my shirt.
Such a weak grip.
It felt stronger than any contract I had ever signed.
I started crying.
There was no dramatic moment before it.