Chapter 2 - THE TWO HEARTBEATS I NEVER TOLD HIM ABOUT
The first person I wanted to call when I discovered I was pregnant was the man who had broken my heart.
That was the cruelest part.
I sat on the bathroom floor of a hotel outside Albany, staring at the two pink lines, remembering how Nathan used to kiss my stomach and joke about the children we might have someday.
"One boy," he would say.
"Two girls," I would argue.
"Whatever they are, I hope they get your smile."
Now I was carrying his child.
And he was the last person I wanted standing beside me.
I called my mother instead.
"Emily?" Grace answered. "Honey, are you all right?"
I tried to speak.
Nothing came out.
Then I whispered, "Mom, I'm pregnant."
There was a long silence.
"Oh, sweetheart."
"I don't know what to do."
"First, you're going to get off that bathroom floor."
I laughed through my tears.
"Then you're going to remember something. That baby is not a punishment for what Nathan did."
I held the phone against my cheek.
"I know."
But I didn't know.
Not yet.
Three days later, I walked into a small medical office in upstate New York.
The doctor, a cheerful woman named Dr. Patricia Ellis, studied the ultrasound screen.
Then she tilted her head.
"Well," she said, "this is interesting."
My stomach tightened.
"Is something wrong?"
"No. Actually, everything looks good."
She turned the monitor toward me.
"Emily, do you see these two little areas?"
I nodded.
"Those are two separate gestational sacs."
I stared at her.
"I'm sorry?"
She smiled.
"You're expecting twins."
For several seconds, I couldn't move.
Twins.
Two babies.
Two tiny lives growing inside me while the life I had built in Chicago lay in pieces.
I began crying so hard the doctor handed me tissues.
"Are you happy?" she asked gently.
I pressed both hands over my stomach.
"Yes."
Then I whispered something I hadn't expected.
"I'm terrified."
That evening, I sat beside a motel window with the ultrasound photograph on my lap.
Nathan had called eleven times.
His latest message read:
Emily, I know what you saw. I have no excuse. But please give me one chance to explain.
I almost answered.
Almost.
Instead, I turned off my phone.
I had decided to stay with my aunt Margaret outside Albany until I could think clearly.
Margaret was my mother's older sister, a retired school librarian with a white farmhouse and a habit of telling uncomfortable truths over morning coffee.
When I told her about the twins, she hugged me.
Then she said, "You don't have to forgive your husband to let him become a father."
I pulled away.
"I know."
"Do you?"
I didn't answer.
Because I was still confusing two different things.
Protecting my children.
And protecting myself from ever being hurt by Nathan again.
Over the next several weeks, I contacted a family attorney.
I had every intention of telling Nathan about the pregnancy after my first trimester, when I felt stronger and had a plan.
But before I could, something happened.
One afternoon, a large envelope arrived at Margaret's house.
There was no return address.
Inside were photographs.
Nathan and Chloe entering a hotel.
Nathan and Chloe at a restaurant.
Chloe wearing a diamond bracelet I had once admired in a jewelry store.
The pictures were dated months before our anniversary.
Beneath them lay a short handwritten note.
He never loved you the way you thought he did.
I sat at Margaret's kitchen table until sunset.
Then I took out the anniversary card I had carried into Nathan's office.
To five years... and all the years after.
I had never signed it.
I placed the ultrasound photograph inside.
For a moment, I considered mailing it to him.
Instead, I slipped both into my grandmother's old wooden jewelry box.
I wasn't ready to let Nathan turn my pregnancy into another reason to make promises he might break.
Two days later, my attorney called.
"Emily, there's something unusual about the separation paperwork Nathan's office sent."
"What?"
"The cover letter says you requested no direct contact, including any future matters involving children."
I sat upright.
"I never said anything about children."
"That's what concerns me."
She paused.
"And there's something else."
I gripped the phone.
"Tell me."
"The letter carries what appears to be your signature."
My throat went dry.
"That's impossible."
"Emily, did you sign any authorization allowing Nathan's company to handle your private correspondence?"
"No."
"Then somebody is using your name."
I stared at the jewelry box.
At the photograph of two tiny heartbeats hidden inside.
May you like
And suddenly, I understood something terrifying.
Someone knew about my pregnancy before I had even told Nathan.
