Chapter 7 - What Renee Said
I didn't move. Trevor stayed in the doorway, not coming any closer, like he understood that distance was the only thing keeping the room from splitting apart entirely.
"Is it yours?" I asked.
"She says it is."
"That's not what I asked you."
He crossed the room and sat down across from me, elbows on his knees. "February was the last time before this week. If the timing's what she says it is — it could match up. I don't know if she's telling the truth."
"Why would she lie?"
"To keep me tied to her. To keep the door open." He looked at his hands. "She knew I'd ended it. She knew I wasn't coming back. This might be—" He stopped. "I don't know what this is."
"You're going to find out."
"I know."
"If there's a child, Trevor — that changes everything. You understand that."
"I know."
"Not just for us. For that baby."
He looked up, eyes red again. "I know, Rachel. I know."
I stood and walked to the window. The neighbor's dog had gone quiet. The street sat empty and still, oblivious.
"I want you to request a paternity test," I said. "As soon as it's medically possible. I'm not going to build one more day of this marriage on something I don't actually know."
"Okay."
"And I want everything she said to you. Word for word. Not a summary."
He told me. It took twenty minutes. I stood at the window the entire time and listened without interrupting once.
Renee had called him back within ten minutes of his message — calm, he said, unnervingly calm. Told him she was nine weeks along. That she'd found out three weeks earlier. That she'd been trying to figure out what to do with the information. That she wasn't asking him for anything. She just thought he deserved to know.
"Did she say what she wants?" I asked.
"She's keeping it."
I nodded.
"Did she sound like she was telling the truth?"
Trevor was quiet a moment. "Yes," he said. "I wish to God she wasn't. But yes."
I turned to face him fully. "I need you to hear me clearly," I said. "I am not going to pretend this isn't happening. I'm not going to smile and act like our life is the same as it was a week ago. It is not."
"I know."
"But I also need you to hear this." I crossed my arms — not out of anger, but to hold myself together. "I have not decided to leave you. I have not decided to stay. I'm deciding nothing until I know the truth about that child. And once I know — then we talk. Really talk. About what this marriage even is, and whether it survives what you did to it."
He nodded, throat visibly working. "Whatever you need. Whatever you decide."
"Don't say that like it costs you nothing."
"It doesn't cost me nothing." His voice cracked. "Losing you would cost me everything I have. I know I have no right to say that right now. But it's true."
I looked at him a long moment. Then I picked up my phone and texted my sister.
Are you free tonight? I need to talk.
Her reply came back in under a minute. Kettle's already going. Come whenever.
I put on my coat and grabbed my keys.
"I'll be back by nine," I said. "The kids need dinner at six. Emma has reading homework."
"I'll take care of it."
I opened the front door. The evening air was cool, someone's lawn mower buzzing somewhere down the street, the smell of cut grass drifting toward me on the breeze.
"Trevor," I said, without turning around. "Call the doctor's office tomorrow. Get that test moving. Don't wait."
"I will," he said. "First thing."
May you like
I walked to my car and sat there a moment with my hands on the wheel before I even started the engine. Then I drove to my sister's house, and for the first time in over a week, I finally let myself cry.
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