“Nora.”
“Do not tell me to sit down.”
He swallowed.
“Heather was a coordinator.”
“I remember a Heather.”
“You met her twice.”
I searched my memory.
Then I saw her.
Blonde.
Mid-thirties.
Soft voice.
Worked at reception sometimes.
I barely remembered.
“What child?”
Edgar’s face collapsed.
I felt something inside me go cold.
“What child?”
He whispered.
“A boy.”
I stopped breathing.
“Whose boy?”
He did not answer.
That was enough.
I grabbed the edge of the counter.
“Yours?”
Tears appeared in his eyes.
“Nora.”
“Yours?”
“Yes.”
The room disappeared.
For a second, I heard nothing.
Then everything became painfully sharp.
The refrigerator hum.
The clock.
Edgar’s breathing.
My own heartbeat.
“How old?”
“Three.”
I laughed.
A terrible sound.
“Three.”
He nodded.
“We’ve been married ten years.”
“I know.”
“So while I was injecting hormones into my body.”
He looked away.
“While I was having procedures.”
“Nora.”
“While I was blaming myself.”
“I know.”
“You had a child with a woman from our fertility clinic.”
He started crying.
“It wasn’t supposed to happen.”
I stared.
“That is your explanation?”
“No.”
“Then explain.”
He covered his face.
I waited.
Finally, he spoke.
“It started after our third failed cycle.”
My stomach twisted.
“You were devastated.”
“You wouldn’t talk to me.”
“I was devastated too.”
“And your solution was Heather?”
“No.”
“I mean…”
