Chapter 12
“I thought I was protecting myself.”
The line went quiet.
Not the children.
Myself.
That admission cost more than defending the decision.
Ryan’s voice softened.
“From what?”
“From watching you choose them out of duty.”
He said nothing.
“I had spent more than a year hoping for a baby with you. That morning I learned there were three. I came home ready to tell you. You already had the papers waiting.”
“Natalie…”
“The ultrasound pictures were in my purse while you told me Vanessa deserved another chance.”
His breath caught.
“I almost showed you.”
“Why didn’t you?”
“Because you checked your watch.”
Silence.
Five years disappeared.
I was back at that dining table.
Black folder.
Cupcakes.
The edge of the ultrasound envelope beneath my fingers.
“I remember,” Ryan whispered.
That surprised me.
“You do?”
“Yes.”
“I decided in that moment that if three babies were the only reason you stayed, I would spend the rest of my life wondering whether you wished you had left.”
He was silent for a long time.
Then he said, “That was my choice to make.”
“No. Staying married to me was partly my choice too.”
“I mean the children.”
I looked through the glass at the city.
He was right again.
I hated it.
“I know that now.”
His voice changed.
Anger remained.
But underneath it was grief.
“Do you?”
“Yes.”
“Because I cannot get five years back.”
“No.”
“I missed their births.”
“Yes.”
“First words.”
“Yes.”
“First steps.”
I pressed my fingers against my forehead.
“Yes.”
“Birthdays.”
“Yes.”
He stopped.
When he spoke again, his voice was barely audible.
“Did they ask about me?”
“Recently.”
“What did you tell them?”
“That you didn’t know.”
Ryan exhaled.
“At least you didn’t tell them I abandoned them.”
“I wouldn’t do that.”
“You let me.”
“That’s not fair.”
“Neither was this.”
I flinched.
Then I said the only honest thing left.
“No. It wasn’t.”
The fight went out of him.
We agreed to meet the next morning without the children.
He chose a private conference room in one of Whitmore Capital’s quieter offices.
I almost laughed when I arrived and saw a black folder sitting on the table.
Ryan noticed.
He looked at it.
Then at me.
“I didn’t think about that.”
“Apparently black folders are a theme with you.”
He pushed it away.
There was no humor in his face.
For the first time since JFK, I really looked at him.