A year old.
Born after my marriage ended, but possibly created before it did.
My child, perhaps.
Not mine, perhaps.
Both possibilities hurt.
“I won’t make decisions in a hospital room,” I said. “And I won’t make them out of anger.”
Connor’s eyes narrowed. “How noble.”
“No,” I said. “Careful.”
That silenced him.
Kenneth placed a business card on the table in front of Melinda. “Send the emails to this address. Do not forward them from Connor’s devices. Do not alter them. Do not discuss them over text with him.”
Melinda nodded.
Connor picked up the card and flicked it back onto the table. “She isn’t sending you anything.”
Melinda picked it up.
“Yes,” she said. “I am.”
For a moment, I saw the entire balance of their marriage shift. Connor saw it too, and that was why his face changed. It was not the legal folder that frightened him most. It was not Kenneth or the temporary order or even the word forged.
