Harrison froze. The world seemed to tilt on its axis. The sounds of the street outside—a siren, a car honking—faded into a dull buzz.
He stood with his back to her for a long moment. Then, slowly, he turned around.
Emily hadn't moved. She had dropped the apple into the trash can. She was standing with her hands resting protectively over her lower stomach, pressing the fabric of his t-shirt against her skin.
"What did you say?" Harrison whispered.
"I’m pregnant," she repeated, her voice gaining strength. "I’ve known for weeks. Since before the breakup with Michael. But I know it's yours."
Harrison shook his head, a nervous tick jumping in hisjaw. "No. No, that’s... that’s not possible. We... I was careful."
"Not always," Emily said softly. "And clearly, not careful enough."
She walked toward him. He didn't back away this time; he was paralyzed.
"It’s ours, Harrison," she said, stopping inches from him. She reached out and took his hand. He was too shocked to pull away. She placed his palm flat against her belly. "A baby. A real 'we.' You can divorce Sarah. You can hate me right now. But you can't leave this."
Harrison stared at her stomach. He felt the warmth of her body.
He thought of Sarah. He thought of the empty nursery they had planned to paint sage green next spring. He thought of the names they had whispered in bed.
And now... this. A child conceived in betrayal. A permanent tether to the woman who had helped him burn his life down.
"You're lying," he choked out, though the sickness in his gut told him she wasn't. "You're saying this to trap me."
"I'm not," she said simply. "I have the tests in the bathroom. I can show you. Or you can wait a few months and see for yourself."
She looked up at him, her eyes wide and imploring.
"I'm keeping it, Harrison. With or without you. But I know you. You're a good man. You aren't the kind of guy who abandons his own flesh and blood."
Harrison looked at her face—so similar to Sarah’s, yet so fundamentally different. He looked at the divorce papers on the table.
The trap snapped shut.
He let his hand drop from her stomach, his arm falling limp to his side.
He slumped against the doorframe, all the fight draining out of him. He realized then that he wasn't just divorced. He was serving a life sentence.
"Okay," he whispered, his voice broken, staring at the floor. "Okay."
Emily smiled, a small, victorious thing. She stepped forward and wrapped her arms around his rigid torso, resting her head on his chest.
"See?" she murmured into his shirt. "It’s going to be okay. We're going to be a family."
Harrison didn't hug her back. He just stared at the beige wall of the apartment he was now trapped in, and wished the ground would open up and swallow him whole
He walked to the window, staring out at the parking lot. A rusted pickup truck was backing into a space, its muffler sputtering. It was bleak. It was ugly. It was his life now.
The spiral began in his chest, a tight, cold coil winding upward, choking him.
A baby.
He closed his eyes and saw Sarah. He saw her face the last time they discussed children. It was a Sunday morning, lying in the sunbeams. She had whispered that she wanted a boy first. She wanted a son with his eyes and her patience. They were going to paint the nursery sage green. They were going to buy a crib made of sustainable oak.
That future wasn't just paused. It was incinerated.
He had been delusional enough to think there was a path back. He had thought, If I grovel enough, if I wait five years, if Iprove I’ve changed, maybe she’ll let me take her for coffee. He had banked on the idea that infidelity was a scar that could fade.
