She told herself, against all evidence, that perhaps this would be the thing that woke him. Not because babies save marriages. They rarely do. But because even cruel men sometimes become reverent in the presence of something so obviously larger than themselves.
She cooked his favorite meal. She lit candles. She placed the ultrasound photo in an envelope beside his plate.
He opened it.
For one full heartbeat, she saw surprise become softness.
“A baby,” he said.
“A girl,” Vivien whispered. “We’re having a daughter.”
He set the photo down. Took a bite of steak. Chewed.
Then, still looking at his plate, he said, “Hope she gets your looks, because my genes are wasted on somebody who’ll probably just grow up to be a housewife anyway.”
That was all.
No touch to her stomach.
No question about names.
No we.
A week later, she had her last real illusion about him stripped away in a parking lot outside a Cheesecake Factory.
She had gone to an ultrasound appointment alone. Dr. Patterson smiled at the strong heartbeat and frowned at her blood pressure. “Are you under a lot of stress?” the doctor asked.
Vivien lied automatically. Hormones. Bad sleep. Too much sodium.