“No.”
“It isn’t.”
I looked at the baby.
Then at her.
“Who is the mother?”
Sarah swallowed.
“Her name is Rachel Bennett.”
“Do I know her?”
“No.”
“She worked with Dad.”
My heart started pounding.
“How do you know this?”
Sarah looked at Noah.
Then at me.
“Because that’s why he made me leave.”
Sarah folded her hands.
Then began.
A year earlier.
Monday night.
The first night I was away.
Kevin received a call.
Sarah was in the kitchen.
He took the call upstairs.
He thought she could not hear.
But part of the conversation carried through the hallway.
A woman was crying.
Kevin said,
“I told you I’m handling it.”
Then:
“No.”
“Linda can never know.”
Sarah froze outside her room.
Kevin continued,
“If the baby is mine, we’ll deal with it.”
My hands went cold.
Sarah said,
“I thought I heard wrong.”
“So I waited.”
The next morning, Kevin left his laptop open.
Sarah had gone downstairs to print an assignment.
A message popped onto the screen.
Rachel: We need to talk before your wife comes home.
