Chapter 2

The next day, my director, Jack Baizen, reviewed my application and asked when the wedding was.

“Didn’t you turn down Amabel because you were getting married?” Jack asked.

“The wedding’s off.”

His pen stopped moving. He glanced at me but did not ask any more questions.

“It’s six months. There’ll be plenty of work. I don’t want you getting homesick and asking to come back.”

“I can handle six months.”

That weekend, Lacey moved in with four boxes.

She put her shoes away first, then arranged her skincare products in the bathroom.

One cardboard box held gifts Robby had given her.

I carried it into the spare bedroom for her.

“Careful!” Lacey called out at once. “Don’t break that mug. Robby bought it abroad.”

I put the mug on the bookshelf.

She looked everything over from the doorway. Once she was satisfied, she sent me to bring in the rest of her things.

That evening, I cooked fish for dinner.

She took a bite and put down her fork.

“It tastes fishy,” Lacey said. “You didn’t clean it properly.”

I picked up her plate. “I’ll make you something else.”

She leaned back in her chair and scrolled through her phone. “Robby used to pick out all the bones when he cooked fish for me. He didn’t do much around the house, but he could do anything well if he put his mind to it.”

I took the fish back to the kitchen and made her some creamy tomato soup instead.

She kept talking without looking at me. “Don’t get jealous. I was just saying. Food tastes different when you’re pregnant. Am I not even allowed to say what I think?”

I ignored the dig about being jealous.

When the soup was ready, she took a photo and sent it to Robby.

He replied with a simple [Good]. She finished the soup, right down to the last drop of broth.

I went to wash the pot.

For the first few days after she moved in, she was still polite enough to ask if I needed an early night.

Then, she started knocking on my door whenever she wanted something.

“Brooke, get me a glass of water,” Lacey called from outside the study.

When I brought it to her, she asked why I had not brought any fruit.

I cut some up for her. She complained that it was too cold from the fridge.

I brought her another plate. Then, she asked if looking after her was such a burden. Somehow, she thought that I was pulling faces.

“I have to be up at six tomorrow. I’m going to bed,” I said.

She made a face. “It’s just work. You’re not doing anything that important. Robby still texts me back even when he’s working past midnight.”

After working late, Robby only had to send a few words.

After I finished work, I still had to go out and buy whatever she felt like eating.

She knew the difference.

A brief text from Robby could make her day, but if I missed even one thing she wanted, she got angry.

At the first prenatal appointment I accompanied her to, a nurse asked us to confirm her contact details.

“Are you the father?” she asked me.

Lacey reached for my arm and answered first, “We’re engaged.”

I moved my arm away. “I’m just here to keep her company. The baby’s father isn’t here.”

The nurse nodded and entered the details without any further questions.

As soon as we stepped outside, Lacey shoved the report into my hands.

“Did you have to say that in front of everyone?” she whispered sharply. “You made me look terrible.”

I tucked the report into its folder. “She asked if I was the father.”

Lacey scoffed. “Would it have killed you to say yes? It’s not like Robby’s going to fight you for the baby. You’d have a ready-made family. What have you got to complain about?”

I stopped.

She thought I was about to lose my temper. Her hand immediately went to her stomach.

“I can’t be getting stressed,” Lacey said. “Whatever you have to say, don’t start a fight outside the hospital.”

I put the bag containing the report into her hand.

I said, “I won’t argue with you, and I won’t say I’m the father either.”

After that, she and her mother were the only contacts listed for her prenatal care.

I could accompany her, but the forms made it clear I was not the father.

I still got up to bring her water whenever her morning sickness was bad.

When she struggled to eat, I tried making different meals.

When she said the doctor had recommended vitamins, I bought the ones he advised.

She kept treating each favor as a reason to ask for more.

Lacey leaned back on the sofa. “You’re already cooking for me. Is coming home at lunchtime really that much to ask? I’m here on my own. I can’t even get a hot meal.”

“I have a meeting at lunchtime,” I told her. “I’ve already made your lunch.”

She pushed the container away. “I don’t want something you made earlier. You’ve got time. Can’t you just go back to work a little late?”

I put the lid back on the container. I did not ask for time off.

She ordered takeout in protest and sent me the bill.

She texted. [You can stop acting like I rely on you for everything. It barely cost anything. Don’t be so cheap.]

When she hit the spending limit on the card I had given her, she asked me to raise it.

I did not.

The next day, she stopped ordering takeout and settled for what I cooked, though she claimed she had no appetite.

In November, she asked Robby to come home to check on her and the baby.

Robby said he was busy.

Lacey read his reply and sighed. “He has a career to think about. I can’t hold him back just because I want him here.”

I cleared the plates from the table. “Right.”

She looked at me. “Why aren’t you telling me to ask him again?”

“You’ve already decided what’s best for him.”

She missed the implication and went back to texting him.

That night, I received a request for additional information for the Amabel assignment.

Passport details, project experience, an emergency contact.

In the emergency contact field, I entered my father’s name.

Then, I clicked Submit.