And instead of admitting it, he constructed a whole second life out of coffee shops and job applications.
I asked:
“What happened to the job?”
“Company merger.”
“Half my department disappeared.”
“Was it your fault?”
“No.”
“Then why are you acting like you committed a crime?”
“Because I’m supposed to provide.”
“For whom?”
“My family.”
“Your family needed the truth.”
He looked away.
I continued:
“You were on your phone at every appointment.”
“Jobs?”
“Yes.”
“During the ultrasounds?”
“Yes.”
“I thought you didn’t care.”
“I cared too much.”
“That isn’t better.”
“I know.”
I looked through the window toward Vanessa’s room.
“Tell her tonight.”
His face changed.
“She’ll leave me.”
“Maybe.”
“Claire.”
“That is not your decision.”
“We’ve already been through so much.”
“Exactly.”
“And you still decided she wasn’t entitled to know what life she was actually living.”
He stood.
“I need time.”
“No.”
“You’ve had four months.”
“Claire.”
“You have until tonight.”
“Or what?”
“I tell her.”
He stared at me.
“You wouldn’t.”
“Try me.”
We had been twins for thirty-six years.
He knew that expression.
He nodded.
That evening, we sat inside a small family consultation room at Willowcrest Medical Center.
Vanessa was there.
The baby remained under observation nearby.
I sat close enough to the door that Ethan understood I was not participating in another cover-up.
Vanessa looked between us.
“What is going on?”
Ethan’s hands shook.
“Before I say anything, I need you to know this isn’t the baby’s fault.”
Vanessa’s face hardened.
