Not words.

A cough.

Then a gasp.

Eric threw his shoulder against the door.

Once.

Twice.

The lock gave.

The room was pitch black except for the thin red emergency light bleeding under the door. Paper scattered across the floor. The air smelled of toner, dust, and fear.

Caroline lay curled near the copy machine, one hand pressed to her stomach, the other gripping a folder.

Her lips were pale.

Blood marked the tissue near her face.

Eric dropped to his knees.

Her eyes opened slowly.

She looked confused.

Then afraid.

Not of the dark.

Of him.

That fear tore through him.

“I’ve got you,” he said.

She tried to push his hand away.

“My stomach.”

Only then did he see the blood on her skirt.

The ambulance lights painted the snowy street red and blue.

At the hospital, the doctors moved too quickly.

Eric stood in a hallway that smelled of antiseptic and wet coats, his shirt stained with Caroline’s blood where he had carried her.

A nurse asked him questions.

Age.

Medications.

Allergies.

Pregnancy status.

He froze.

“I don’t know.”

The nurse looked up.

“You don’t know if your wife is pregnant?”

He heard himself say it and hated the man speaking.

An hour later, a doctor came out.

“Mr. Martin?”

Eric stood too fast.

“She’s stable.”

He almost collapsed.

“But she miscarried.”

The hallway disappeared.

“She was approximately five weeks pregnant. Given the stress, blood pressure instability, and her underlying condition, we couldn’t save the pregnancy.”

Underlying condition.

Eric grabbed the back of a chair.

“What underlying condition?”

The doctor’s expression changed.

“You weren’t aware?”

“Of what?”

“Your wife has a suspicious lesion in her lung. She was scheduled for further testing.”

Eric could not breathe.

“She told you?”

“She said she was trying to.”

The words landed one by one.

Unless you’re on your deathbed, can this wait?

His own voice came back to him like a verdict.

The doctor continued, but Eric barely heard.

Testing.

Possible malignancy.

Urgent follow-up.

Caroline had been carrying a child.

His child.

And dying quietly in his house while he accused her of jealousy.

When she woke, she refused to see him.

He stood outside her hospital room with his hand against the doorframe, listening to the soft beeping of machines inside.

Dave came out first.

His face was hard.

“She doesn’t want you in there.”

“I need to talk to her.”

“No. You need to listen.”

Eric looked through the small window.

Caroline lay turned away from the door, one hand resting over her stomach as if her body still remembered the shape of what had been lost.

Eric’s throat closed.

“I didn’t know.”

Dave stepped closer.

“You didn’t want to know.”

The truth was not loud.

It did not need to be.

Stacy came to the hospital that evening.

She wore a red coat and brought coffee.

Eric stared at her as if she were a stranger.

“Why are you here?”

“I was worried.”

“No. You were curious.”

Her face changed.

“Eric.”

“Did you know she was sick?”

Stacy’s eyes flickered.

Too quickly.

That was when something inside him shifted.

“Answer me.”

“She’s always sick,” Stacy said softly. “Always dramatic. You know that.”

He stepped back.

The words sounded familiar because he had repeated them.

Caroline’s “episodes.”

Caroline’s “drama.”

Caroline “making things about herself.”

Stacy had not created his cruelty.

She had fed what was already there.

Dylan appeared beside her, holding her hand.

“Daddy?”

Eric looked at the boy.

His heart twisted.

Then a memory surfaced.

Dylan in fever, murmuring, “Mommy said don’t tell Daddy.”

Eric crouched slowly.

“Hey, buddy.”

Dylan looked nervous.

“Is soup lady okay?”

Eric swallowed.

“She’s resting.”

Dylan leaned closer.

“Mommy says she wants her man back.”

Stacy’s grip tightened.

“Dylan.”

Eric looked up sharply.

“What did you say?”

Dylan shrank.

Stacy laughed too loudly.

“He talks nonsense when he’s tired.”

Eric stood.

“Where is the paternity test?”

Stacy’s face went blank.

“The test. You said you had one.”

“It’s at my apartment.”

“Then we’ll go get it.”

“Eric, now isn’t the time.”

He stared at her.

“It is exactly the time.”

The test she produced looked real enough at first glance.

Eric had trusted it months ago because he wanted to.

His mother did not.

Margaret Martin had loved Caroline from the beginning, though Caroline never knew how much. She arrived at the hospital with a gray wool coat, tired eyes, and an envelope in her purse.