Chapter 2: The Proof
I stared at the message until the words blurred.
*You deserve to know the truth about Adrian and your baby. I have proof.*
My thumb hovered over the screen.
A hundred questions crashed through my mind at once.
Who was this?
How did they know about my baby?
What truth?
And why had they chosen tonight?
“Who texted you?””
Adrian’s voice came from behind me.
I didn’t answer.
His footsteps moved closer.
“Olivia, give me the phone.””
That was when I turned the screen toward him.
I watched the blood drain from his face.
Camille stepped closer.
“What is it?”” she asked.
Adrian didn’t look at her.
He kept staring at my phone.
“Where did you get that?””
I swallowed.
“A stranger sent it.””
His jaw tightened.
“What number?””
I almost laughed.
A few minutes ago, he had been telling me to leave our home.
Now he suddenly cared who was contacting me.
“Why?”” I asked.
“Because this could be someone trying to cause trouble.””
“Then you should have nothing to worry about.””
He reached for my wrist.
I pulled away.
“Don’t touch me.””
His hand dropped.
The silence that followed was thick enough to choke on.
Camille folded her arms.
“Olivia, people do crazy things when they’re angry. You shouldn’t believe some random text.””
I looked at her.
“Then why are you shaking?””
Her face changed.
Just slightly.
But I saw it.
Adrian saw it too.
“Camille,” he said quietly.
She looked at him.
“What?””
“Stop.””
She opened her mouth, then closed it.
I had known Adrian for six years.
I knew every version of his silence.
The irritated silence.
The exhausted silence.
The angry silence.
This was different.
This was fear.
I turned toward the dining table and set my phone down.
“Send me the proof.””
Nothing happened.
Then my phone vibrated again.
A photo appeared.
I opened it.
My breath caught.
It was Adrian.
Standing outside a private fertility clinic.
The date on the picture was seven months ago.
The month before I got pregnant.
Another message appeared.
*Ask your husband what happened at the Westbrook Reproductive Center on January 16.*
I looked at Adrian.
“January 16.””
He froze.
“What happened that day?””
“Nothing.””
“Don’t lie to me.””
“Olivia—”
“What happened?””
His face hardened.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.””
I held up the phone.
“You were photographed outside a fertility clinic.””
Camille looked at Adrian.
Her expression had gone pale.
“You said she knew.””
Adrian snapped his head toward her.
“I never said that.””
My stomach dropped.
I looked between them.
“You said I knew what?””
Camille’s lips parted.
For a moment, nobody moved.
Then she whispered, “Nothing.””
“Tell me.””
“Olivia, calm down.””
“Tell me!””
My voice echoed across the room.
The baby kicked hard.
I instinctively covered my stomach.
Camille flinched.
Adrian noticed.
“Sit down,” he said.
“I don’t need your instructions.””
“You’re pregnant.””
“Funny. You remembered.””
His eyes lowered.
I hated that I wanted him to look guilty.
I hated that some part of me still wanted him to say there was an explanation.
A simple one.
Something ridiculous.
A business appointment.
A wrong building.
Anything that could put my world back together.
But he didn’t.
He stood there in silence.
My phone buzzed again.
*There is more. Check your email.*
I grabbed my laptop from the counter.
Adrian moved toward me.
“No.””
I stopped.
“No?””
“You should talk to me before opening anything.””
“Why?””
He didn’t answer.
That was enough.
I opened my email.
There was a new message from an unknown address.
No subject.
Only one attachment.
A PDF.
My hands trembled as I clicked it.
The first page was a medical report.
I saw Adrian’s full name.
My heart began pounding.
I read the date.
January 16.
Then I saw the words *fertility consultation*.
My eyes moved down the page.
And stopped.
I read the line once.
Then again.
Then a third time.
I couldn't breathe.
“Olivia?””
Adrian’s voice sounded far away.
I looked at him.
“You had a fertility consultation?””
He closed his eyes.
“It wasn’t what you think.””
“What am I supposed to think?””
“I was considering something.””
“Considering what?””
He said nothing.
I scrolled farther.
The document contained a list of tests.
Hormone levels.
Semen analysis.
Genetic screening.
And a recommendation for…
My vision blurred.
I zoomed in.
*Donor-assisted conception recommended pending further evaluation.*
The laptop nearly slipped from my hands.
“No.””
Adrian stepped forward.
“Listen to me.””
“No.””
“Olivia—”
“No!””
I pushed the laptop away.
“You told me we conceived naturally.””
“We did.””
“Then why were you at a fertility clinic?””
He hesitated.
“Because I had doubts.””
“About what?””
He looked at my stomach.
“About whether the baby could be mine.””
The words were quiet.
But they shattered me.
My hand flew to my mouth.
I felt like someone had reached inside my chest and ripped everything apart.
“You thought I cheated?””
“I was confused.””
“You were confused?””
I laughed bitterly.
“I stayed faithful to you.””
“I know.””
“You knew?””
“Yes.””
“Then why did you doubt me?””
He looked away.
I saw shame in his face.
Real shame.
But it came too late.
“Because the doctor told me I might have fertility problems,” he said.
I stared at him.
“What doctor?””
“Dr. Bennett.””
“When?””
“Last year.””
“And you never told me.””
“I didn't want you to worry.””
I shook my head.
“So you went behind my back.””
“I was scared.””
“You were scared, so you accused me without saying a word?””
“I didn't accuse you.””
“You went to a fertility clinic.””
“I was trying to understand what was happening.””
“While we were trying to have a baby.””
He nodded.
His eyes were wet now.
But I couldn't feel sympathy.
Not tonight.
“Then how did I get pregnant?””
He looked at the floor.
“I don't know.””
My chest tightened.
“What do you mean, you don't know?””
“I mean exactly that.””
The room went silent.
Camille suddenly spoke.
“He knows.””
I turned.
She was staring at Adrian.
“What?””
Camille's face had lost all its color.
“Tell her.””
“Camille,” Adrian warned.
“No. She needs to know.””
I took a step toward them.
“Know what?””
Camille looked at me.
Then at my stomach.
Then back at Adrian.
“The pregnancy wasn't an accident.””
My heart stopped.
“What are you saying?””
Adrian grabbed her arm.
“Enough.””
She pulled away.
“You promised me you would tell her.””
My body went cold.
“You two made a promise?””
Neither answered.
I felt something inside me snap.
“How long?””
Adrian looked at me.
“How long what?””
“How long have you two been keeping secrets from me?””
Camille whispered, “Since before you knew you were pregnant.””
I stared at her.
The rain continued tapping against the windows.
Somewhere downstairs, the refrigerator hummed.
Everything in the house looked exactly the same.
But my life didn't.
I walked backward until I hit the wall.
“Camille…”
She looked away.
I remembered every time I'd seen her.
At Adrian's office parties.
At charity dinners.
At the restaurant where he told me she was “just a colleague.””
At Christmas, when she gave me a box of expensive maternity clothes and kissed my cheek.
I had thanked her.
I had invited her into my home.
I had trusted her.
“How could you?””
She didn't answer.
Adrian stepped between us.
“Olivia, there are things you don't understand.””
“Then explain them.””
“I will.””
“Now.””
He took a breath.
“The clinic visit wasn't about you.””
“Then who was it about?””
His eyes shifted toward Camille.
My stomach dropped again.
Camille began crying.
“I never wanted this to happen.””
I stared at her.
“What didn't you want?””
Adrian closed his eyes.
“Camille was going through treatment.””
My mouth went dry.
“Treatment for what?””
“For infertility.””
I looked at Camille.
She nodded slowly.
“And Adrian was helping me.””
“Helping you how?””
“Financially.””
I turned to Adrian.
“You were paying for her treatment?””
“Yes.””
“Why?””
“Because she couldn't afford it.””
“And you thought that was appropriate?””
“She was desperate.””
“So was I!””
My voice broke.
“I was begging you to go to appointments with me. I was begging you to talk about names. I was begging you to feel something when our baby kicked.””
Adrian looked devastated.
But I wasn't finished.
The email was still open.
I looked back at the report.
Something in it didn't make sense.
The date.
The consultation.
The recommendation.
I scrolled to the final page.
There was a second name listed under patient history.
I leaned closer.
My heartbeat accelerated.
It wasn't Camille's name.
It was mine.
*Patient: Olivia Hart.*
I stopped breathing.
“What?””
Adrian stepped toward me.
I held the laptop up.
“Why is my name on this?””
He went completely still.
Camille covered her mouth.
I looked from one face to the other.
“Why does this clinic have my medical information?””
Neither answered.
Then my phone buzzed one more time.
A new message appeared.
*Now ask Adrian who signed the consent form in your name.*
I slowly lifted my eyes to my husband.
“Adrian…”
He didn't speak.
May you like
I whispered the question.
“Who signed it?””
