Chapter 3

I drove back to the small rental house Brittany and I had shared, the one I still paid for. The front door was slightly ajar.

A knot of anger tightened in my chest.

I pushed it open. Brittany and Chad were on the sofa, heads bent together over her laptop, scrolling through websites. The soft glow illuminated their faces, animated and close. Baby registries, nursery designs. They were planning a life, a lie, built on my sacrifice.

"Oh, Chad, look at this one! Isn't this mobile adorable?" Brittany's voice was bright, a sound I hadn't heard directed at me in weeks.

Chad chuckled, leaning closer, his arm brushing hers. "Yeah, that's pretty cool. He'll love it."

*He.* They were already gendering our child, the child she was supposed to be aborting, and attributing it to him.

I stood in the doorway, my fists clenched.

Brittany looked up, her smile faltering when she saw me. Her face paled slightly.

She scrambled up, rushing over, her voice a low hiss. "Austin! What are you doing here?"

"This is still my house, Brittany. Or did you forget?"

"Chad... he had another panic attack today. Dr. Albright said he needs a calm environment, familiar surroundings." She gestured vaguely. "I thought... bringing him here..."

"You thought you'd bring him to *my* home to plan your fake life with my child?"

Her eyes flashed. "Don't be like that, Austin. He's fragile." She glanced back at Chad, who was now looking at us with wide, innocent eyes. "He's been through so much."

"And I haven't?"

Her expression softened, the calculated sympathy back in place. "I know this is hard. Just... please, can you give us some space? He's really not well." She reached out, as if to touch my arm, then seemed to think better of it. "Once this blows over, I'll... I'll figure something out. Maybe he can move to California, get a fresh start."

I didn't say another word. I turned and went upstairs to the bedroom that no longer felt like mine.

Even through the closed door, I could hear their voices, Brittany's soft murmurs, Chad's occasional laugh.

"Oh, he definitely kicked! I think he likes that name!" Chad's excited voice.

A wave of nausea hit me. That was supposed to be me, feeling our baby kick, choosing names with Brittany.

I curled up on the bed, the pillowcase dampening with tears I couldn't stop. The life I'd envisioned, the family I'd yearned for, was dissolving into a grotesque parody.

Late that night, the bed dipped beside me. Brittany's scent, once a comfort, now a reminder of betrayal. She slid an arm around my waist, her body pressing against my back.

"Austin," she whispered, her voice thick with something that might have been regret, or just exhaustion. "I'm sorry. I really am."

I lay rigid, unmoving.

"We can try again," she murmured into my hair. "We'll have other children. I promise."

The doctor's words about her thin uterine wall echoed in my mind. Other children. What a cruel joke.

Suddenly, a choked cry from the guest room shattered the quiet.

"No! Get away from me! Don't touch me!" Chad's voice, raw with terror.

Brittany shot upright, a conditioned reflex. She didn't even bother with slippers, her bare feet thudding on the floor as she raced out of the room.

"Chad! Chad, it's okay! I'm here!"

For the rest of the night, the hallway was filled with her soothing tones, his whimpered fears, a symphony of my personal hell.