“Thank God you’re here,” Margaret said. “We need to talk.”
“You shouldn’t have come,” Emily replied.
“I waited as long as I could.”
I looked between them. “Someone better explain what’s going on.”
Margaret’s eyes shifted to me. “I’m Dr. Margaret Vale. I was Emily’s obstetrician.”
That should have eased something in me. Instead, it made the room feel colder.
Emily had gone through pregnancy with this woman beside her while I had known nothing.
“I see,” I said, though I did not see anything at all.
Margaret stepped closer to the threshold. “May I come in? This isn’t something to discuss on a porch.”
Emily hesitated.
I wanted to tell Margaret no. I wanted to shut the door, turn to Emily, and demand the truth that had been interrupted twice already. But Noah stirred then, making a soft sound that was barely more than a sigh, and Emily immediately lowered her chin to soothe him.
That small movement decided it.
I stepped aside.
Margaret entered, brushing snow from her shoulders. She removed her gloves slowly, as if choosing her words while the warmth of the room thawed her fingers.
Emily moved toward the couch, but she didn’t sit. She stayed standing, swaying gently with the baby.
I closed the door and faced them both.
“Start talking,” I said.
Margaret looked at Emily. “Does he know?”
Emily’s face tightened.
“He knows Noah is his,” she whispered.
A strange, sharp feeling passed through me at hearing it said aloud. Noah is his. My son. The words still didn’t feel real enough to touch.
Margaret exhaled. “Then he needs to know the rest.”
“The rest of what?” I asked.
