Part 2 of 3

The insurance notices.

Marlene’s $8,000 receipt.

Denise listened without interrupting.

Then she asked me what I wanted.

“I want to know who Lena is.”

“That’s understandable,” she said. “But legally, the more important question is what you need to protect before your baby arrives.”

That sentence redirected everything.

I did not need every answer before taking action.

I needed my paycheck protected.

My medical care protected.

My daughter’s remaining resources protected.

And I needed to stop allowing Gavin to control information because I was afraid of what I might learn without him.

Two days later, an answer arrived anyway.

Not from Gavin.

From Lena.

The message appeared on Facebook shortly after nine that evening.

Are you Audrey Ellison?

I stared at it.

Her profile photograph showed a woman around thirty with dark blond hair.

I clicked.

Most of the page was private.

But one photograph was public.

Lena was standing sideways beside a Christmas tree with one hand resting beneath a small but unmistakable pregnant belly.

The caption was dated eleven days earlier.

Twenty-two weeks. Halfway there.

I sat down.

My own daughter moved beneath my ribs.

For several seconds, I could hear nothing except the refrigerator humming.

Then another message appeared.

I think we need to talk about Gavin.

I called Marlene.

She arrived twenty minutes later carrying the brown leather bag.

I showed her the photograph.

She sat beside me without speaking.

Then I opened a video call with Lena.

The woman who appeared on my screen looked terrified.

She was visibly pregnant.

Neither of us spoke at first.

Finally she said:

“He told me you were separated.”

I closed my eyes.

Of course he had.

“We’re not.”

Lena covered her mouth.

“He said you were living together until the baby came because selling the house while you were pregnant would be too stressful.”

“We rent.”

Her face drained.

Marlene shifted beside me.

Lena noticed her.

“Is that his mother?”

“Yes.”

Lena started crying.

I expected to hate her.

Instead, I felt tired.

“How long?”

She wiped her face.

“Almost a year.”

My daughter kicked again.

“And the baby?”

Lena looked downward.

“Gavin says she’s his.”

She.

Another daughter.

“Did he pay your medical bills?”

Lena nodded.

“He said he had a separate account. He told me not to worry about the appointments.”

Marlene closed her eyes.

I looked at the ultrasound photograph still sticking out of her brown leather bag.

That afternoon, Gavin had knocked my card from my hand because $680 was supposedly too much to spend checking his daughter’s growth.

For months, he had been paying another woman’s prenatal bills with money saved for mine.

Lena whispered:

“Audrey, I swear I didn’t know.”

I believed her.

Not because I suddenly trusted a stranger.

Because Gavin had told us complementary lies.

He told me his mother refused to help.

He told Marlene the $8,000 was for my medical care.

He told Lena his marriage was over.

He told me the baby savings were untouched.

Every lie had one purpose.

Keep each woman from speaking to the others.

I looked at Lena.

“Does he know you contacted me?”

“No.”

I glanced at Marlene.

Then I made a decision.

“Don’t tell him.”

PART 2 — TWO DAUGHTERS

Gavin returned from Las Vegas Sunday evening.

He texted me from the airport.

We need to stop this nonsense before the baby comes.

I replied:

Tomorrow. 6:00. Your mother’s house.

He arrived at 6:17.

Marlene’s dining room had hosted Christmas dinners, birthday cakes, funeral casseroles and the rehearsal dinner before our wedding.

That evening there were no decorations.

Just Marlene’s brown leather bag on the sideboard and three chairs around the table.

Gavin looked around.

“Where’s Audrey?”

“Here.”

I entered from the kitchen.

His eyes moved immediately to my stomach.

“You look exhausted.”

Once, that would have sounded like concern.

Now I heard the criticism inside it.

“Sit down.”

He gave me a tired smile.

“Can we please behave like adults tonight?”

Marlene answered before I could.

“That would be refreshing.”

Gavin ignored her.

“Audrey, I’ve had four days to think. I’m willing to overlook what happened at the clinic because you were stressed.”

I actually stared at him.

“You’re willing to overlook it?”

“I shouldn’t have grabbed your purse. Fine. I admit that. But you humiliated me in front of my mother and clinic staff over money that belongs to both of us.”

“Who is Lena?”

His expression changed.

Barely.

But enough.

“I already told you. Someone from work.”

“Is she pregnant?”

His jaw tightened.

“Where did you hear that?”

“Answer me.”

He looked toward Marlene.

“Did you hire someone to follow me?”

Marlene shook her head.

“No one needed to follow you.”

I put a printed photograph on the table.

Lena beside the Christmas tree.

Twenty-two weeks pregnant.

Gavin looked at it.

Then at me.

“Audrey, this is not what you think.”

I almost laughed.

“Then explain what I think.”

“Lena and I got close when things between us were bad.”

“Things between us were bad?”

“You were always tired. Everything became appointments, baby furniture, budgets—”

Marlene slapped one hand flat against the table.

“Stop.”

Gavin stared at her.

“What?”

“Do not blame your pregnant wife because you slept with another woman.”

His face reddened.

“I’m not blaming anyone.”

“You just did.”

He turned back to me.

“I made a mistake.”

“For almost a year?”

“It wasn’t supposed to become serious.”

I placed the Westridge statements beside Lena’s photograph.

“Is her baby yours?”

He did not answer.

That was enough.

But I wanted to hear him say it.

“Gavin.”

He rubbed both hands over his face.

“Probably.”

Marlene stared at him.

“Probably?”

“She says it is.”

I felt strangely calm.

“And you used our daughter’s savings to pay for her pregnancy.”

“I helped with some appointments.”

“You spent hundreds of dollars at her obstetrician.”

“She didn’t have good insurance.”

For a second, nobody moved.

Then I asked the question I had been waiting to ask since the clinic.

“And I did?”

He looked confused.

“What?”

“I was standing thirty-six weeks pregnant in my obstetrician’s office without active insurance because you stopped paying our premiums. You knocked my debit card onto the floor over a $680 ultrasound.”

His eyes dropped.

“Meanwhile, you were paying for hers.”

“That’s different.”

Marlene stared at him.

“Explain how.”

He became defensive.

“Audrey had savings. Lena didn’t.”

There it was.

Not an apology.

Not shame.

A justification.

I nodded slowly.