Chapter Five

DAMIEN'S POV

I found the crackers three days after our fight.

A sleeve of saltines tucked behind the coffee maker. Another in the drawer next to the guest bathroom. I'd noticed them before and assumed she was stress eating, as Mrs. Patterson had mentioned. But now I looked closer.

Ginger tea in the pantry. The kind marketed for nausea. Her usual coffee had been replaced with decaf for weeks. I'd noticed without registering it.

I stood in the kitchen and did the math.

The night of Catherine's anniversary. Four months ago.

My stomach dropped.

I went to find her.

Olivia was in Ethan's room, listening to him read aloud. He'd started reading to her two weeks ago, small chapters from a picture book she'd bought him. I stood in the hallway and watched through the cracked door. Ethan's voice was careful, sounding out difficult words. Olivia corrected him gently without making him feel stupid.

Three months ago, he hadn't spoken at all.

I waited until she came out.

"I need to talk to you."

She looked at my face and her expression closed immediately. "I'm tired."

"Olivia."

"Damien, whatever it is…."

"Are you pregnant?"

The silence lasted two seconds too long.

"No," she said.

"Don't lie to me."

She looked down the hallway toward Ethan's closed door, then back at me. "Not here."

We went to the study. She sat on the edge of the chair, hands folded in her lap. Composed, which told me everything. She'd been preparing for this conversation.

"How long have you known?" I asked.

"Twelve weeks."

Three months. She'd known for three months and said nothing. While I'd been arranging surrogate visits and guest house renovations and custody paperwork, she'd been carrying this secret.

"Why didn't you tell me?"

"You made it clear that night meant nothing."

"That's not an answer."

"Yes it is." She met my eyes. "You told me you'd betrayed Catherine by sleeping with me. That you wanted your real life back. What was I supposed to do with that? Show up the next morning with a pregnancy test?"

I didn't have an answer.

"What do you want to do?" I asked instead.

"I'm leaving in April as planned. I'm keeping the baby and raising it alone."

"That's my child."

"A child you don't want. You said it yourself. You want Catherine's baby. You want Catherine's family. You're building it upstairs in the guest house as we speak." Her voice was steady, not accusing. Just factual. "I'm not going to fight you over a baby you'll resent."

"You don't get to decide what I'll feel."

"I grew up in foster care, Damien. I know what it looks like when a child is tolerated instead of loved. I won't do that to my baby."

"Our baby."

"Mine," she said quietly. "You made your choices. I'm making mine."

I wanted to argue. I stood there with every counterargument lined up and couldn't say a single one, because she wasn't wrong. I had said those things. I'd meant them when I said them, standing in this same kitchen four months ago, still drunk on grief and whiskey.

"Does my mother know?"

"Yes."

Of course she did. Victoria had been unusually attentive to Olivia for weeks. Bringing her tea. Checking in. I'd assumed it was sentiment, her way of softening the approaching end of the contract.

"I need time to think," I said.

"You have until April." Olivia stood. "I'm not asking you for anything. I want that clear. I'm not leveraging this for money or an extension of the contract. I'm telling you because you asked me directly, and lying felt wrong. But I'm still leaving."

She walked out.

I sat in the study for a long time.

Emma called at nine. I let it go to voicemail.

********************

The next morning, I told Mrs. Patterson I'd be driving Ethan to school myself. She looked surprised but said nothing.

In the car, Ethan was quiet for the first three minutes. Then: "Are you and Olivia still fighting?"

"We're talking things through."

"She looked like she'd been crying."

I tightened my grip on the wheel. "She's fine."

"She's not." He looked out the window. "Emma said Olivia was only ever here for the money. That she doesn't actually care about us."

"When did Emma say that?"

"Last week. When she came for dinner." He paused. "But that's not true. Olivia taught me to read better and she never made me feel dumb. That's not something you do for money."

I had no response to that.

"Dad?"

"Yes."

"Is Olivia leaving because of the baby?"

I went very still. "What baby?"

"I don't know. I just heard her on the phone once." He shrugged with the practiced indifference of a child who's learned not to ask too many questions. "She was talking to someone called Marcus. She said she'd be alone with the baby and that was okay."

I dropped him at school and sat in the parking lot for ten minutes.

When I got home, Emma was in the kitchen with Victoria. They stopped talking when I walked in.

"I need a minute with my mother," I said.

Emma smiled. "Of course. I'll check on the guest house renovations."

When she was gone, Victoria looked at me with an expression that said she already knew why I was here.

"You knew," I said. "For three months."

"She asked me to keep her confidence."

"She's carrying my child and you helped her hide it."

"I helped her feel safe in a house where she's been made to feel invisible." Victoria set down her cup. "The question isn't what I knew, Damien. The question is what you're going to do now."

"I don't know yet."

"Then figure it out quickly. Because that girl is not going to wait.”