Then, fighting through the thick fog of terror, Erin lifted the paper.

Her fingers were shaking so badly she could barely hold it straight.

“What is this?”

Her voice didn’t sound like her own.

It was a raspy, terrified whisper.

Ben didn’t answer.

He swallowed hard, his Adam’s apple bobbing sharply.

He looked at the note, then back up at her face, and she could actually see the gears turning in his head.

Whatever elaborate explanation he had prepared for the day, whatever defensive wall he had built, seemed to crumble and vanish completely under the weight of her terrified stare.

“Erin,” he said quietly, his voice cracking.

He took a slow, tentative step toward her, holding his hands up slightly, palms out, like he was approaching a frightened animal.

“No,” she whispered, taking a step back, the hardwood cool through her slippers.

Her free hand flew up to her chest.

“You don’t get to say my name like that.

You don’t get to use that calming voice and pretend this is nothing.”

He closed his eyes for a fraction of a second, a look of profound agony flashing across his features.

“It’s not what you think.”

That phrase.

It was the absolute worst thing he could have said.

That only made the fear worse, twisting it deep into her gut.

Because people only ever said ‘it’s not what you think’ when what you were thinking was already close enough to the truth to absolutely terrify you.

Her breath hitched.

She fought back the sudden, hot sting of tears, refusing to let them fall until she knew exactly what kind of grief she was crying for.

Her voice broke entirely despite her desperate effort to keep it steady.

“Then tell me.

Tell me right now why you wrote this before our final prenatal appointment.”

Ben ran a trembling hand through his dark hair, gripping the roots tightly.

He looked at her, and his eyes were full of the exact, devastating expression she had been dreading all morning.

It wasn’t guilt.

Not exactly.

It was more like absolute heartbreak, heavily mixed with raw, unadulterated panic.

It was the look of a man who was watching the world he loved burn down and was entirely powerless to stop the fire.

“I was going to explain,” he choked out, his voice thick and wet.

“I swear to you, Er.

I was going to explain everything after we got there.”

Erin stared at him.

The air in the room felt freezing cold.

After we got there.

That was the moment the floor completely dropped out from beneath her.

That was when she realized, with a sickening, terrifying clarity, that whatever Ben had been hiding for the past week wasn’t random.

It wasn’t a small work issue, or a financial hiccup, or a misplaced anxiety.