She is carrying something. My child.
And she was going to tell me when?
The front door opens, and she walks in. Stops dead when she sees me standing in her living room.
“Ledger.” Her face goes pale. “What are you doing here?”
“We need to talk.”
“How did you get in?”
“I have a key.”
“I never gave you a key.”
“I know.” I cross my arms. “Sit down.”
“I don’t want to sit. I want to know why you’re in my apartment without permission.”
“Sit down, Savannah.” My voice is cold. Harder than I intended. But I’m barely holding it together, and she needs to understand how serious this is.
She stays standing. “What’s going on?”
“You went to a clinic today.”
Her eyes widen. Just slightly. But enough that I know I’m right.
“How do you—” She stops. Looks at me. “You had me followed.”
“I always have you followed. You’re my wife. There are people who want to hurt me by hurting you.”
“You had me followed to the clinic.”
“I had you followed everywhere. And when my men reported that you went to a women’s health clinic and didn’t come back to work, I needed to know why.”
“So you what?”
“Persuaded the doctor to share information, yes.” I pause. “You’re pregnant. Congratulations, by the way. It would’ve been nice to hear it from you.”
Her face crumples. “I was going to tell you.”
“When? After you’d figured out how to run?”
“What? No. I just found out today. I needed time to process?—”
“Time to process.” I move closer, and she takes a step back. “Or time to figure out how to keep my child from me?”
“That’s not—I would never?—”
“Wouldn’t you?” My voice drops lower, more dangerous. “You ran once before. Woke up in my bed and disappeared for three weeks. How do I know you won’t do it again? Especially now that there’s a baby involved?”
“Stop it!” She’s crying now. “I’m not running. I was just scared and trying to figure out how to tell you.”
“Then why didn’t you? Why sneak off to a clinic during lunch like you’re hiding something?”
“Because I needed to know for sure before I said anything. Because this is huge and terrifying, and I didn’t want to worry you if it was nothing.”
“I don’t care if it’s nothing, Savannah, and look, it turned out to be something. It’s my child.”
