4: 4
I bent to pick up the prenatal slip.
Gilbert was faster, closing his fist over the paper.
"We'll talk about this at home."
I steadied myself against the shelf. "We'll talk about it here."
Corinne shook her head, crying. "Faith, it isn't what you think."
"The hospital filled it in wrong. Gilbert went with me to open the file, and the nurse assumed he was the father."
I kept my eyes on Gilbert. "You. Talk."
He was silent for a long time.
Long enough that the clerk quietly killed the music, long enough that my foot had gone numb with pain.
"The child might be mine."
He finally spoke.
"The night before Corinne flew back, she got drunk and I went to get her. Whatever happened the next day, I can't remember clearly."
No denial. No explanation.
Three words—can't remember—and three years of our marriage was standing at the edge of a cliff.
I asked, "What do you plan to do?"
"Wait until the baby's born and do a paternity test."
"And if it's yours?"
His throat moved. "I'll take responsibility."
I laughed. "How, exactly?"
Corinne cut in through her tears. "I won't take Gilbert from you. I can leave with the baby. Faith, don't blame him—I was drunk, I mistook him for Dick."
"Shut up."
For the first time, I cut her off in front of everyone.
She froze, tears clinging to her lashes as if she'd suffered some unbearable wrong.
Gilbert moved her behind him. "It's my fault. Don't take it out on her."
I looked at that small movement, and suddenly even anger felt like too much.
Back home, Gilbert carried me upstairs.
He took off the loosened brace, then brought an ice pack and laid it on my ankle.
His hands were still just as practiced.
"I'll get to the bottom of the baby thing."
"Where's the ring?"
His fingers stopped. "What?"
"My wedding ring."
He took the ring from his coat pocket and set it on the nightstand.
There was a small moon engraved inside the band now.
Corinne's nickname was Moon.
I flicked it with a fingertip, and the ring rolled to the edge of the carpet.
"You didn't take it to be resized. You took it to have that carved."
"She said she wanted something to mark the baby's birth. I didn't notice the clerk gave me the wrong ring."
I closed my eyes. "Get out."
"Faith, with her it really was an accident."
"Out."
He stood there a long time, and in the end he shut the door for me.
The next day was the annual charity gala the Matthews family hosted.
I hadn't planned to go, but my mother came in person and took away my crutches.
"The media and the elders will all be there tonight. If you don't show up, what will people say about Corinne?"
"She's carrying my husband's child, and you're worried what people will say about her?"
Her face darkened. "Gilbert had too much to drink that night. Corinne wasn't clear-headed either. One is your husband, one is your sister. Won't you be satisfied until you've driven them both to their deaths?"
I pushed off the edge of the bed and stood. "So I'm the one who deserves to die?"
She looked away. "That's not what I said."
Before the gala started, Gilbert came to get me.
He'd brought a pair of flats, crouched to put them on for me, then set the crutches within my reach.
"Tonight your father will announce that Corinne is taking over Skyhaven. Don't make a scene. After she has the baby, I'll give the project back to you."
"And me? After the baby is born, what am I?"
His hand closed around my ankle, tightening without his meaning it to.
"You're still Mrs. Winfield. If the child is mine, we'll raise it together. He can call you Mom."
I looked at him for a long moment.
"Gilbert, you really are cruel."
Halfway through the gala, my father called Corinne up to the stage.
The big screen lit up with the renderings for the Skyhaven project, the credit line already changed to Corinne's name.
As the guests applauded, Corinne turned to me with red eyes and thanked me. "The one I owe the most for this project is my sister. She made it possible for me."
Then my father put up her prenatal photo.
"There's another happy announcement today. Corinne is pregnant, and the baby's father is Gilbert Winfield."
The room erupted.
I looked at the seat beside me.
At some point Gilbert had already gone up onto the stage, shielding a pale Corinne from the cameras.
My mother sat down next to me with a document in her hand.
"You and Gilbert divorce first. When the baby's born, do the test. If it isn't his, the two of you remarry."
"And if it is?"
"A child can't grow up without a whole family."
She pressed the pen into my hand, her voice dropping low. "It'll be hard for you to have children later, and Corinne's baby is your nephew too. Gilbert is willing to let you stay in the house and care for the child. He's already looking out for you."
On the stage, the host mistook them for an engaged couple.
Gilbert didn't correct it.
He only watched me across the crowd, his eyes calm, certain that in the end I would give in.
I opened the divorce agreement.
The house, the savings, the shares—not one of them was mine.
An added clause stated that after the divorce I could still live in the Winfield home, responsible for caring for Corinne and her child.
So they'd even parceled out the rest of my life.
I didn't cry, and I didn't demand answers.
I signed my name on the last page and slid across, along with it, another document I had prepared long before.
When she made out the title, the color drained from her face.
