Derek calls on a Wednesday morning with the kind of voice that means something has shifted.
"The pregnancy is real," he says.
I am standing at my office window with my coffee and I stay very still for a moment.
"Verified how?" I ask.
"I hired a private medical consultant," he says. "Independent, nothing to do with Vivienne's doctor. She agreed to the verification, which surprised me. Eight weeks."
Eight weeks.
I do the math without wanting to. Eight weeks takes it back to approximately the hotel trip. The one he told me was a work commitment. The one where he came home with peonies and guilt and I smiled at him across the dinner table knowing everything.
"Okay," I say.
"Camille, I need to tell you something and I need you to hear it properly," he says. "I am not g
