Dr. Harris sensed the tension and tactfully excused himself, leaving us in the charged silence. I looked back at Michael, searching his face for something—anything—to hold onto.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered, sincerity in his eyes. “I should have told you, but I didn’t want to worry you while you’re pregnant. It was stupid. I didn’t think…”

His words faltered, leaving behind the jagged edges of truth and misunderstanding. I wanted to believe him, to trust the man I loved, but the hurt ran deep, creating fissures in the foundation of our relationship.

I reached out, touching his uninjured hand, feeling the warmth and solidity of it. “We need to talk, Michael. We need to figure this out.”

He nodded, relief mingling with regret in his eyes. Jessica quietly rose, respecting the fragile moment, and slipped away, her presence a ghost that would linger long after she was gone.

As I stood there, facing the complex reality of love and trust, I realized that this was just the beginning. The road ahead would be rocky, fraught with uncertainty, but it was a journey we had to take together if we hoped to emerge stronger on the other side.