Chapter 4

The tiles were cold against my bare feet. Ethan filled the doorway like a verdict, his dark eyes tracking the hand I'd pressed instinctively against my stomach. I watched him connect every clue — the untouched wine at Gerald's office, my flinch at Mrs. Park's coffee, the nausea I could no longer disguise. His expression didn't shift. Somehow that was worse. "I'll ask once more," he said. "How far along?" "Nine weeks." My voice was barely a thread. "The father is my ex-husband. He doesn't...