Page 47 of A Song for Another Woman

“Emmy?” June’s voice is very gentle now.

I open the door. She sees my face, then the tests behind me, and her eyes shine.

“Oh, honey.”

“Don’t,” I whisper.

She nods once, swallowing whatever she was about to say. Then she takes the tests, wraps them in toilet paper like evidence that might bite, and sets them in the trash.

Afterward, we sit in the living room with all the lights off except the lamp beside the couch. My tea sits untouched on the coffee table. June folds herself into the chair across from me, knees tucked under her, watching me without crowding.

I hold one hand flat against my lower stomach. There's nothing to feel. Not yet. Still, I hold it there.

“I thought this would be different,” I say.

I stare at the dark television screen. “Not perfect. I’m not stupid. I know babies don’t arrive inside perfect moments. But I thought if it happened, he’d be here.”

And he would have been ecstatic. That's the cruelest part.

Cade Tyler can be selfish. He can be blind. He can let applause teach him terrible habits. He can stand next to another woman beneath arena lights and forget that his wife is bleeding quietly in the third row.

But if I told him I was pregnant, he would come apart with joy.

I can see it so clearly that it hurts worse than the truth. Cade dropping to his knees in some kitchen. Cade laughing with tears in his eyes. Cade pressing his hand to my stomach before there was anything to feel. Cade arguing names with me like it mattered that instant. Cade calling Cy. Cade buying too many books. Cade talking to my belly in a voice so tender it would make me forgive things before I was ready.

My throat aches.

“He would come running,” I say.

June leans forward. “Maybe he should.”

“No.”

“Em—”

“No.” The word is quiet, but it has a spine in it. I look at her. “Not yet.”

She sits back slowly.

“If he knows, I’ll never know why he comes.” My hand tightens over my stomach. “He may have set fire to our marriage without meaning to burn it all the way down, but he’s still Cade. There’s no version of him that finds out about a baby of his and stays away.”

“That’s not nothing,” June says. “And I hate him plenty right now, so understand what it costs me to say that.”

A small, painful smile moves through me and dies.

“But if he comes because of this,” I whisper, “I’ll spend the rest of my life wondering. Did he choose me, or did he choose the right thing? Did he want his wife, or did he want to be a father who didn’t fail twice?”

June’s eyes fill.

“I can’t be chosen by default again,” I say. “I can’t survive it.”

June wipes under one eye with the heel of her hand. “Okay.”

“Okay?”

“I don’t like it,” she says. “But it’s your body. Your marriage. Your baby. Your timing.”

“You can’t tell anyone,” I say.