Chapter 2: Lily

Three weeks passed in a blur of prenatal vitamins, doctor appointments, and James's relentless attention. He brought me flowers every day: peonies on Monday, tulips on Tuesday, and roses on Wednesday. A routine of apology that neither of us acknowledged out loud.

Dr. Harrison's therapy seemed to be helping. James came home from each session quieter than usual but determined to talk about what he'd learned.

"It's about recognizing the triggers," he explained one evening as we lay in bed, his hand making gentle circles on my stomach. "The moment before the anger becomes uncontrollable."

I nodded, focusing on the feeling of his touch rather than the memory of that hand striking me.

"How was your lunch with Zoe?" he asked, changing the subject.

"Good," I said, grateful for the shift. "She's excited to be an aunt."

"Did you tell her about the baby?"

I hesitated. "Yes."

"Did you tell her about the other thing?" His voice dropped lower, his hand stilling on my stomach.

"No," I whispered. "There was nothing to tell. It was a one-time mistake."

His body relaxed beside mine. "Thank you for believing in me, Lily."

I turned toward him in the darkness. "Just don't make me regret it."

The next morning, I woke to an empty bed and the sound of James's voice drifting from his home office. I pulled on my robe and padded down the hallway, pausing outside his door.

"It's under control," he was saying, his tone clipped and professional, his business voice. "The property will be ready by the end of the quarter."

I was about to continue to the kitchen when his next words stopped me cold.

"She doesn't suspect anything. Why would she? She's too caught up in this pregnancy to notice."

My heart pounded painfully against my ribs. Who was he talking to? What didn't I suspect?

"Yes, I understand the risks," he continued. "But the payoff will be worth it."

I pushed the door open before I could think better of it.

James spun around in his leather chair, phone pressed to his ear. His expression shifted from surprise to irritation to a practiced smile in less than a second.

"I'll call you back," he said to whoever was on the other end, hanging up without waiting for a response. "Good morning, beautiful. How long have you been standing there?"

"Long enough," I said, hating the tremor in my voice. "Who were you talking to?"

He stood up smoothly, crossing the room to kiss my forehead. "Just business, sweetheart. A new development project that's been having some zoning issues."

"What don't I suspect?"

His smile didn't falter. "The surprise I've been planning for your birthday next month. One of my business partners almost spoiled it."

The explanation was perfectly reasonable. James was a successful real estate developer; secretive phone calls were part of his job. And he'd always loved surprising me for special occasions.

So why did unease crawl beneath my skin?

"You look pale," he said, concern creasing his brow. "Are you feeling okay? Morning sickness again?"

Before I could answer, my stomach lurched. I barely made it to the bathroom in time.

As I retched into the toilet, I felt James's presence behind me. His hand gathered my hair back from my face, his touch gentle.

"I hate seeing you like this," he murmured, rubbing my back.

When the nausea subsided, I slumped against the cool tile wall. James dampened a washcloth and pressed it to my forehead.

"Thank you," I managed to say.

"Always." His eyes softened. "You're carrying our miracle. The least I can do is hold your hair while you throw up."

The tenderness in his voice made tears spring to my eyes. This was the man I'd fallen in love with, caring, attentive, and kind.

"I think I need to lie down again," I said.

He helped me back to bed, tucking the blankets around me like I was something precious. As he turned to leave, I caught his wrist.

"James? Are you hiding something from me?"

He stiffened almost imperceptibly before sitting on the edge of the bed. "What makes you ask that?"

"I don't know. You seem... different lately."

His thumb traced over my knuckles. "I'm worried about you. About the baby. After everything we've been through to get here, I'm terrified something will go wrong."

The sincerity in his eyes made my suspicions seem foolish. "I'm scared too," I admitted.

"We'll get through this together," he said, bringing my hand to his lips. "Just like we've gotten through everything else."

After he left for work, I lay in bed staring at the ceiling. My hand drifted to the barely-there swell of my stomach.

"What do you think, little one?" I whispered. "Is your daddy telling the truth?"

The silence offered no answers.

Later that afternoon, my phone chimed with a text from James.

*Meeting running late. Don't wait up for dinner. Love you both.*

A familiar disappointment settled in my chest. Before our fertility struggles began, we'd made a point of eating dinner together every night, no matter how busy work got. Another small change in the shifting landscape of our marriage.

I was about to reply when a wave of dizziness hit me. The room tilted sideways, my vision blurring at the edges. I grabbed the counter for support, but my legs gave way beneath me.

As darkness closed in, my last coherent thought was of my baby.