“And you need to stay away from that woman until you can think clearly.”
Julian stared at the screen.
“Good night, Mother.”
He ended the call before she could answer.
Minutes later, he returned to the recovery floor.
The baby was stable and being monitored.
Grace allowed Julian to look through the nursery glass from a distance.
He stood there longer than he meant to.
The child was tiny, wrapped securely, one hand curled near the face.
Julian pressed his fingertips against the glass.
Nine months earlier, he had called that child a trap.
He could not escape the ugliness of it now.
When I woke several hours later, the room was dim.
Julian sat in a chair near the wall.
His jacket was gone.
His tie was loosened.
For once, there was no performance in him.
I saw him and immediately looked toward the empty bassinet beside my bed.
“My baby?”
“Alive,” he said quickly.
“Stable.
Grace is with the baby.”
My eyes filled before I could stop them.
Julian stood, then hesitated as though he no longer knew whether he had the right to come closer.
I noticed.
“Don’t touch me.”
He stopped.
“I wasn’t going to.”
“You always decide what you’re going to do before anyone else gets a say.”
He accepted that without argument.
After a moment, he said, “The dates in your chart…”
I turned toward him.
“Don’t.”
“I need to know.”
“No.
You want to know.
You needed to know nine months ago, when I stood in front of you and told you the truth.”
Julian’s face tightened.
I continued.
“The baby is yours.”
He looked down.
There was no triumph in him.
Only devastation.
“I believe you.”
I laughed weakly.
“Now?”
“Yes.”
“Because I’m in a hospital bed?”
“No.”
“Because the dates finally agree with you?”
Julian took the blow.
“Because I should have believed you then.”
I watched him carefully.
That was the first time I had heard Julian say anything close to an admission without adding an excuse afterward.
He pulled the chair slightly closer but remained standing beside it.
“The documents,” he said.
