The fault line between the brothers opened exactly where I expected it would: at liability. Henry would help Nathan cheat on his wife. He would not happily risk his own finances, reputation, and wife’s name once the paper trail had his fingerprints on it.
Two days later, Nathan texted me directly for the first time in weeks.
We need to talk. You are blowing this up beyond reason.
I looked at the message while sitting on the floor beside a half-built dresser for the baby’s room. The instruction manual lay open beside me. One tiny sock had somehow stuck to my sweater with static.
I typed back:
No. You did that.
He didn’t answer.
That same night, while I was putting onesies into a drawer in size order because nesting is apparently what women do when their lives are on fire, a sharp band of pain wrapped across my stomach and held.
I froze.
Waited.
Another one came eleven minutes later.
Then another.
I looked down at my belly, high and hard under my T-shirt, and laughed once out of pure disbelief.