“I have. We did the last few retrievals Reggie set up. Since she and Aram ... there’s no one else I trust.”
Did he really just say this? That he’s stopped because he couldn’t find anyone he trusted? Not because he got two people killed? Not because he’s violating his patients? Not because he put his family at risk?
“Do we need to move? Me and the kids,” I quickly clarify. “Should we go somewhere?”
Gabe shrugs. “If they wanted to hurt me, they would have done it already.”
I’m not sure I agree that we can anticipate the behavior of someone we can’t identify, someone we can’t begin to know.
“I’ll leave. That way, no one will have any reason to threaten you,” he adds, as though this is a noble sacrifice he’s making, as if I’m not kicking him out.
I’m too tired to fight with him anymore, and the truth is, I want to go home. It’s so hard taking Jasper somewhere unfamiliar, navigating new sets of stairs or bookshelves that aren’t secured to the walls, electric fireplaces, or non-childproofed cabinets. It’s too much for me alone, for my body, limited by fresh stitches and healing wounds. At home, along the canals, we have neighbors in close proximity, a community who can watch and protect us.
“As soon as I’m home and settled, we’ll go to the police?”
“We’ll get through this,” he says with conviction, like our bond is still iron strong.
You can judge the strength of a metal by how much pressure it can withstand before deteriorating, how far it can be stretched, the impact it can endure, how much compression before it fractures. All metal has a breaking point, especially iron, if it isn’t fortified with anything else.
“I need you to go,” I say. Stretched, impacted, compressed. Not broken.
“I’ll go relieve Marisol.”
“No,” I shout, not wanting him anywhere near my son. But Jasper is Gabe’s son too. Gabe kisses my forehead, then walks over to Opal and strokes her head. As he’s leaving, I shout, “And Gabe? Give me back my phone.”
He hands it to me. He looks so sad and pathetic, though still handsome. I hate that attraction is woven into my feelings for this morally bankrupt man.
“There are all kinds of DNA tests out there. How’d you think this was going to end?”
“Even if they do find out, deep down, they already know.”
“Until one of the donors decides she wants her baby back,” I spit.
Gabe shoots me a confused squint like I’ve just said something incredibly stupid. “They have no claim. They signed all the standard paperwork. It was a totally legitimate business.”
“Except Regina,” I say coolly, and the condescension slips from his face. Except Regina. Only, Regina is dead.
“We’ll sort this out,” Gabe half begs, half insists. “We’ll figure out who’s after us. I’ll keep us safe.”
No,I think.I will.
Chapter Thirty-Six
Tessa
After Gabe leaves, I cry as I hold Opal, my tears darkening her white linen swaddle, stains that lay claim on her as mine. I hold her tightly, thinking of all the other mothers who have no idea what truths their children’s DNA holds, the secrets I can’t keep. Not from them, not from Barb either. When Gabe gave me back my phone, I read through the dozen texts she’d sent, saw the genuine fear Barb had for my well-being, the worry that persisted after she was thwarted at the nurses’ desk when she tried to visit me last night. I’ve let her know that I asked Gabe to leave, offering little explanation for why. I have to tell her about Jasper, and I will. I will trust my instincts that she wants to help, not ruin my life.
Barb knocks on the partially open door to my room, then rushes to me like a mother would.
“I’m sorry.” Barb takes my hands in hers. “I should have told you as soon as I had my suspicions about your husband. I shouldn’t have spied.”
I clutch her hands, shaking my head, insisting I’m not mad. We sit there, heads bent toward each other, silently acknowledging everythingwe’ve been through together. I want to hold on to this closeness, but it isn’t real, not until she knows about Jasper.
Barb lets go of my hands as she spots Opal, who lies in her bassinet, cocooned, awake. Barb asks if she can hold her.
“Welcome to the world, Opal.” She cradles my daughter, bending over to kiss her tiny face. I don’t know how to differentiate the gratitude from the fear, the certainty that whatever happens, this moment cannot last. It’s enough to make me cry.
“Hey.” Barb sits on the side of my bed and hands Opal to me so I can feed her. Before I know it, I’m telling her everything Gabe has admitted to me about his scheme, about Regina’s role. I don’t lay the blame at Regina’s feet, like Gabe did. Even if she streamlined the process, if she was better at talking to the donors, if she’s responsible for the choices she made, she’s not the perpetrator here. I won’t off-load Gabe’s blame onto anyone else.
