The Heartbeat at 6:20

Inside the home office, my mother-in-law, Margaret Hale, asked again, "What about Dawn? She just lost the baby."

Graham was silent for a long time.

Finally, he said, "I'll make it up to her."

Margaret sighed. "Making it up to her isn't the same as loving her."

Graham's voice remained calm.

"All she wants is to be Mrs. Hale."

I braced a hand against the wall as my fingertips slowly turned cold.

So that was what he thought of the past three years.

In his eyes, everything I'd held on to for the past three years had been nothing more than me chasing the title of Mrs. Hale.

I didn't storm in. I simply turned around and went back to the bedroom.

The paperwork from my follow-up appointment that morning was still on the nightstand.

The doctor's note read: Patient is recovering poorly after miscarriage. Recommend having a family member present and avoiding emotional stress.

Graham didn't know.

That day, he'd gone apartment hunting with Celeste.

It was eleven that night when he came home.

He frowned when he saw the lights were still off.

"Why aren't you asleep?"

I looked at the smartwatch on his wrist.

"Did your heart race today?"

His fingers stilled on his cufflink.

"What?"

I picked up my spare phone and opened the screenshots I'd taken of his heart-rate data.

"One thirty-six. One thirty-two. One forty."

I looked at him.

"Graham, doesn't your heart get tired from racing every time you see my sister?"

Something shifted in his eyes.

Not panic.

Annoyance.

"You went through my stuff?"

"I heard you."

He was quiet for two seconds.

"How much did you hear?"

I pointed to my chest.

"Enough to kill whatever hope I had left."

Graham sat down across from me.

"Dawn, things back then weren't as simple as you think."

"How complicated could they be?"

"The Whitmores were about to lose everything."

"So you married me?"

"I still did everything a husband was supposed to do."

I slapped the follow-up paperwork down in front of him.

"That's your idea of being a husband? I went to my follow-up alone while you took my sister apartment hunting."

He glanced at the paperwork, then quickly looked away.

"You didn't tell me."

"I had to tell you I needed a follow-up after my miscarriage?"

He said nothing.

I went on.

"And the day I came out of surgery, your heart rate was sixty-eight. Was that because I didn't tell you I was in pain?"

Graham frowned.

"Dawn Whitmore, don't bring the baby into this."

"Wasn't it your baby too?"

His Adam's apple bobbed.

After a long silence, he said quietly, "The baby's gone."

The room fell deathly still.

Then his phone rang.

Celeste's name lit up the screen.

Graham glanced at it and answered.

I couldn't hear what she said, but his brows drew together.

"Don't cry. I'm coming."

He hung up and reached for his coat.

"What happened to her?" I asked.

"Low blood sugar."

"Were you this worried when I miscarried?"

Graham looked back at me, exhaustion flickering in his eyes.

"Dawn, you used to be so understanding."

He walked back over and reached out to touch my hair.

"You can handle this. She can't."

I pulled away from him.

"What disgusts me most about you, Graham, is that you love her and still expect me to play along so you can keep up appearances."

His expression cooled.

"We'll talk when I get back."

The door closed softly behind him.

But I was finally awake.