She told Daniel on a Thursday evening, three weeks after they'd come home.
She'd wanted to wait until the first appointment confirmed everything, which it had — twelve weeks, as she'd estimated, everything where it should be. She'd wanted to wait until she had the full picture. She'd also wanted, she admitted to herself, to sit with it privately for a little longer, the way she sat with things before they became other people's.
It was a Thursday because Thursday evenings had a particular quality in the flat now — homework done, dinner finished, the week close enough to its end that everyone was slightly looser. Leonardo was at the table. She'd asked him to be home for this.
Daniel was on the kitchen sofa with the bathymetric atlas, because the Mariana trench section had led to a sustain
