I didn't speak for several seconds.
The office seemed suddenly too small.
The ticking clock on the wall sounded absurdly loud.
Ryan said the baby wasn't his.
Those words were impossible.
I had been married to him for eleven years.
There had been no other man.
No secret relationship.
No reason for him to doubt the child's paternity.
Unless he knew something I didn't.
Or wanted me to doubt myself.
Mara paused the recording.
“Before we go further, don't contact Ryan.”
“I wasn't going to.”
“Good.”
“I need to know what Claire meant.”
“We will.”
My phone rang.
Ryan.
I watched his name appear.
Then disappear.
A voicemail followed.
I didn't open it.
Another call came.
I rejected it.
Mara looked at me.
“That's probably the right decision.”
I stared at the phone.
“He knows something happened.”
“Probably.”
“He knows about the recording.”
“Possibly.”
The third call never came.
Instead, a message appeared.
We need to talk about the baby.
I felt my stomach drop.
Mara read it.
“Do not answer.”
I nodded.
The phrase echoed in my head.
The baby wasn't his.
I thought about the pregnancy.
The day I told Ryan.
The way he had smiled.
The way he had put both hands on my face.
Then, weeks later, the way he had started sleeping on the couch.
I had blamed the miscarriage.
Maybe it had started before.
I looked at Mara.
“Could Ryan have believed someone else was the father?”
“Yes.”
“Could he have had evidence?”
“Possibly.”
“Could he have been wrong?”
“Absolutely.”
That distinction mattered.
I had spent months assuming Ryan's betrayal began with Claire.
Now there was another possibility.
Maybe the marriage had already been poisoned by a suspicion neither of them had told me.
Mara asked for every medical and legal document I had.
I gave her everything.
Then she asked about the pregnancy itself.
“Did your doctor ever mention anything unusual?”
“No.”
“Any testing?”
“Routine testing.”
“Anything about blood type?”
I thought.
“No.”
“Any reason for paternity testing?”
“No.”
She nodded.
“Then don't assume Ryan was right.”
“I don't.”
But I knew I needed to understand why he believed it.
That afternoon, Claire came to Mara's office.
She looked as though she hadn't slept.
She sat beside me.
“I should have told you sooner.”
“Yes.”
“I was afraid.”
“You've said that.”
“I know.”
“Tell me what happened.”
She took a breath.
“Ryan found something.”
“What?”
“A photograph.”
“What kind?”
“An old picture from before your marriage.”
I frowned.
“Of whom?”
“You.”
I stared at her.
“And another man.”
I searched my memory.
“I don't know what you're talking about.”
“He said you were with someone before you married him.”
“So?”
“He said the man was the father of the baby.”
“That makes no sense.”
“I know.”
“Who was the man?”
She shook her head.
“I never knew.”
“Where did Ryan get the photograph?”
“He showed it to me.”
“Did he show you the original?”
“No.”
“Then it could be anything.”
“I know that now.”
Mara leaned forward.
“Did Ryan ever mention the man's name?”
Claire looked at her.
“Daniel.”
The name meant nothing to me.
“Daniel who?”
“I don't know.”
I tried to remember.
There had been a Daniel at my old workplace.
A family friend named Daniel.
A cousin's friend.
Too many possibilities.
“Did Ryan say when the photograph was taken?”
“Before the wedding.”
“How long before?”
“Years.”
“That proves nothing.”
“I know.”
“Did he claim you had a relationship?”
“Yes.”
“Did you?”
“No.”
She looked at me.
“I believe you.”
I appreciated the honesty.
But something about the name bothered me.
Daniel.
I hadn't heard it in years.
Mara asked Claire to send any photograph Ryan had shown her.
She did.
The image arrived.
I opened it.
It was old.
Very old.
I was younger.
Maybe twenty-four.
I was standing beside a man outside a restaurant.
My arm was around his shoulder.
He was laughing.
I stared.
Then I remembered.
Daniel Mercer.
He had been my college friend.
Nothing more.
We had dated other people.
We had never dated each other.
The photograph had been taken after graduation.
I had forgotten about it.
Ryan hadn't.
“He used this?”
Claire nodded.
“He said you had lied to him about Daniel.”
“I didn't.”
“I know.”
I looked at the date.
Seven years before I met Ryan.
Mara examined it.
“That's not evidence of anything.”
“No.”
“But it may explain his suspicion.”
I looked at Claire.
“When did Ryan first show you this?”
“After the miscarriage.”
“Before or after the custody proposal?”
“After.”
That mattered.
The suspicion may have been an excuse.
Or it may have been genuine.
Either way, he had never asked me.
He had gone directly to my mother.
Directly to lawyers.
Directly to Claire.
He had built a case around a secret instead of asking his wife a question.
That told me enough about the marriage we had actually been living in.
Then Claire said something else.
“He asked your mother whether she knew about Daniel.”
I looked at her.
“When?”
“The night of the miscarriage.”
My skin prickled.
Mara immediately asked,
“Did your mother answer?”
Claire shook her head.
“I don't know.”
I called my mother.
She answered on the first ring.
“Annie.”
“Who is Daniel?”
Silence.
I knew.
She knew.
“Mom.”
“I haven't spoken to him in years.”
“You know him.”
“Yes.”
“Did Ryan ask you about him?”
She began crying.
“Yes.”
“When?”
“The night you were in the hospital.”
“Why?”
“Because he thought the baby might be his.”
“That doesn't make sense.”
“He said the dates didn't add up.”
“They did.”
“I know.”
“Then why didn't you tell him?”
“I told him he was wrong.”
“What else?”
She didn't answer.
“What else did you tell him?”
“I told him the truth didn't matter if he had already decided what he believed.”
I closed my eyes.
That sounded like my mother.
But it wasn't enough.
“Did you know Daniel?”
“Yes.”
“Did he ever contact you?”
“No.”
“Did you ever contact him?”
She hesitated.
“Yes.”
“When?”
“Years ago.”
“Why?”
“I needed to find out where he was.”
My heart started beating faster.
“Why?”
She didn't answer.
“Mom.”
“I wanted to know whether he had moved back.”
“Why would you care?”
“I didn't.”
“You're lying.”
She started crying.
“I am trying to protect you.”
I felt a wave of anger.
“Everyone keeps saying that.”
I ended the call.
Mara watched me.
“We need to locate Daniel.”
“I don't even know where he is.”
“I'll see what can be established legally.”
That evening, my father arrived at my house.
He looked pale.
“I heard the call.”
“With Mom?”
“Yes.”
He sat down.
“There is something I never told you.”
I almost laughed.
“Apparently everyone has something they never told me.”
He looked ashamed.
“Daniel contacted your mother.”
“When?”
“Years ago.”
“How many?”
“About eleven.”
My marriage.
The beginning.
“Why?”
“He said he wanted to talk to you.”
“About what?”
“I don't know.”
“Did Mom tell him no?”
“She told him you were married.”
I frowned.
“That's not true. I wasn't married eleven years ago.”
My father looked at me.
“That is why I remember it.”
I felt cold.
Ryan and I had been married eleven years.
Daniel had contacted my mother around the beginning of our marriage.
Why?
“What was his last name?”
“Mercer.”
“I know.”
My father nodded.
“He said something about a child.”
I stopped.
“What child?”
“I don't know.”
“Dad.”
“He said he had something that belonged to you.”
“What?”
“I don't know.”
“Why didn't you tell me?”
“Your mother said it would destroy your marriage.”
I stood.
“Before I even knew there was a problem?”
He nodded.
I felt dizzy.
“Did Ryan know?”
“I don't know.”
My father looked toward the window.
“Annie, there's one more thing.”
I waited.
“Daniel wasn't calling about himself.”
“What do you mean?”
“He said the child wasn't his.”
I stared at him.
“Then why was he calling?”
My father swallowed.
“He said he knew who the father was.”
The room went silent.
I could hear the refrigerator humming.
Outside, a dog barked once.
Then stopped.
My phone vibrated.
A new message.
Unknown number.
I opened it.
Hello, Annie. My name is Daniel Mercer. I think we need to talk about what happened before you married Ryan.
I stared at the screen.
A second message arrived.
I tried to reach you eleven years ago.
Then a third.
Your mother told me you didn't want to know.
My hands went cold.
I looked at my father.
He closed his eyes.
I asked the question that had been waiting inside me for eleven years.
“What did Mom keep from me?”
My father didn't answer.
My phone vibrated again.
Daniel had sent a photograph.
It wasn't of me.
It wasn't of Ryan.
It was a photograph of a small hospital bracelet.
The name printed on it was mine.
Underneath it was a date.
A date I recognized.
The date my mother had always told me was the day I first came home from the hospital after a childhood illness.
But Daniel's message said:
This was the day I learned why your mother never wanted you to ask questions about your first pregnancy.
I stared at the screen.
I couldn't breathe.
First pregnancy?
There had been another one.
And suddenly, the story Ryan had been telling everyone about my fifth baby no longer seemed like the beginning of the secret.
It seemed like the middle.
