Part 4
She had left the obstetric clinic after being told Nolan was delayed. As she entered the main corridor, she saw him near the elevators with Camille’s arm through his. Camille leaned close enough that her mouth nearly touched his ear. Nolan’s hand rested at the back of her waist.
Leah had called his name.
He removed his hand immediately.
Camille had turned with an expression that looked almost relieved.
Leah walked toward them.
She had not spoken again before the heel crossed her path.
“I said your name.”
“You looked angry.”
“I was.”
“Camille thought you might strike her.”
Leah stared at him.
“Did she tell you that before or after she called a lawyer?”
“She has bruising on her ankle.”
“From tripping me.”
“She says you kicked her.”
“Nolan.”
“I’m telling you what she says.”
“No. You are carrying it into this room.”
He stood and went to the window.
The blinds were partly closed over a view of the hospital roof and a parking garage beyond it. Evening light turned the room cool while the lamp beside Leah’s bed remained warm.
“She has a lot to lose,” he said.
Leah watched his reflection in the glass.
“So do I.”
“I know.”
“No, you know in theory. She could lose a board position. You could lose your job. I could lose our son.”
He turned.
“Don’t say that.”
“Why?”
“Because the doctor said he is stable.”
“At this time.”
He winced at the phrase.
Leah placed both hands over her abdomen.
The contractions had become less frequent after medication, but each one brought back the polished corridor and Nolan’s stillness.
“Why did it end?” she asked.
“What?”
“The affair.”
He looked toward the door.
“Because it was wrong.”
“That answer took six months?”
“I ended it when we found out the baby was a boy.”
Leah felt a coldness spread through her chest.
“What difference did that make?”
“It made everything real.”
“I was already pregnant.”
“I know.”
“You needed a sonogram to make me human again?”
“That’s not fair.”
“No. It isn’t.”
Nolan returned to the chair but did not sit.
“Camille wanted me to leave.”
“And you said?”
“That I couldn’t.”
“Because you loved me?”
“Yes.”
“Or because you didn’t want to leave the baby?”
“Both.”
Leah looked at his wristwatch.
It had been a fifth-anniversary gift. She had spent more than she could afford at the time because Nolan admired the design and would never buy it for himself.
Camille’s fingers had curled around that watch.
“Did you promise her you would leave after the birth?”
His silence became visible.
Leah felt the baby roll beneath her hands.
“Nolan.”
“I said I needed time.”
“You promised.”
“I didn’t make a formal promise.”
She laughed, and a contraction tightened across her stomach almost immediately.
The monitor changed rhythm.
Nolan reached for the call button.
Leah caught his wrist.
“Don’t.”
“You’re in pain.”
“It’s passing.”
He stood still while she breathed through it.
His pulse moved beneath the watchband.
When the pain eased, Leah released him.
“You were waiting until after I gave birth.”
“I was confused.”
“You had arranged a future with her.”
“No.”
“Then why is she wearing a ring?”
Nolan’s face changed.
There it was again—the involuntary pause before the managed answer.
“It’s hers.”
“She wears a large diamond to board meetings?”
“Yes.”
“Did you give it to her?”
“No.”
Leah watched him.
“Did you pay for it?”
He sat down.
The chair gave a soft mechanical sigh.
“I helped her choose it.”
“For herself?”
He did not answer.
Leah turned away.
“You should leave.”
“I’m not leaving you here.”
“You already did.”
“Leah.”
“I need my body to stop trying to have this baby early. Your presence is not helping.”
His mouth opened.
She expected him to argue, and part of her wanted him to. Anger would have been easier than the expression he wore.
He looked like a man standing outside his own life.
“I’ll be nearby,” he said.
“Don’t be.”
He left.
At midnight, the contractions slowed.
Leah slept for forty minutes at a time. Each time she woke, she checked the monitor before remembering the nurse was watching it from the station.
Around two, Mara entered with water.
“You’re still here,” Leah said.
“Double shift.”
“That sounds healthy.”
“Private hospitals have very elegant exhaustion.”
Leah managed a faint smile.
Mara checked the intravenous line.
“Your husband is in the family lounge.”
“I told him to leave.”
“He may define nearby broadly.”
“Is she with him?”
“No.”
Leah looked toward the closed door.
“Did hospital security review the camera?”
“Risk management took the footage.”
“Can I see it?”
“Not directly tonight.”
“Will Camille’s father see it first?”
Mara paused.
“That is a reasonable concern.”
Leah studied her.
“You’ve done this before.”
“Seen a board member’s family create a problem?”
“Yes.”
Mara adjusted the monitor strap.
“Not exactly this problem.”
“What happens?”
“Usually, everyone becomes very concerned about privacy and procedure until the person with less power gets tired.”
Leah looked at the paper strip printing beside the bed.
“I’m already tired.”
“I know.”
“Will you give me a copy of your statement?”
“I can’t give it to you directly.”
“Will it disappear?”
Mara’s face remained steady.
“I documented it in the medical record as well.”
Leah understood.
A risk-management report might be revised, delayed, or interpreted. The medical record followed different rules.
“Thank you.”
Mara nodded.
At the door, she stopped.
“The camera may not show the shoe clearly, but it shows your husband’s position.”
Leah felt the words settle.
“What does it show?”
“That he had time to move.”
After Mara left, Leah did not sleep again.
She imagined the footage from above.
Her body moving toward the floor.
Nolan’s hand beginning to rise.
Then stopping.
A person could freeze. Leah knew that. Shock was not a moral failure by itself.
May you like
But Nolan had frozen before.
When Camille insulted Leah at a Christmas dinner, he looked at his plate. When his mother suggested Leah’s freelance work was a hobby, he changed the subject. When his company scheduled travel over their fertility appointments, he asked Leah to reschedule the appointments.
