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The moment the clinic confirmed I was pregnant, I decided to stop making a scene. Sawyer brought Chloe home, the wife of his childhood friend Mark. Mark had just died. I pretended not to see them. Sawyer looked at me, a flicker of unease in his eyes. “Chloe has a slight fever. I just brought her here to rest.” I closed the door behind them. “Take good care of her.” We’d fought over her countless times, and he’d never once backed down. Only after I got pregnant did Sawyer’s attitude toward me soften. “After Mark died… I just feel sorry for her, pregnant and all alone.” I nodded. “I know.” “It gets cold at night. Remember to get her an extra blanket.” When I didn’t react, his brow furrowed. “Does this really not bother you at all?” I used to care. I had asked. I had fought. I was too tired now. Now, all I wanted was this child. He had saved my life. Bringing this child safely into the world would be my way of repaying that debt. As for anything else, I no longer had the energy to care. … When I didn’t answer, Sawyer’s frown deepened. He grabbed my hand. “Her fever came on suddenly. I already took her to the ER.” “The doctor said she needs to be observed.” “She’s pregnant. I’m not comfortable leaving her alone, so I want her to stay here tonight.” I pulled my hand from his grasp and offered a faint smile. “I know.” “You don’t have to explain.” “I’ll sleep in the guest room.” Sawyer’s face went rigid. “Why aren’t you asking any questions?” I had asked him plenty of times before. All I ever got was blame. “Isn’t this what you wanted?” I said. Sawyer was quiet for a few seconds before reaching for me again. “I’ll have her leave as soon as she’s feeling better.” “She’s only Mark’s…” I finished the sentence for him. “She’s only Mark’s wife.” “When the car accident happened, Mark pushed you out of the way.” “Before he died, he made you promise to take care of his pregnant wife.” “You’ve never been able to let that go.” “I won’t suspect anything between you two ever again.” I had heard those words too many times to count. Sawyer looked at me, his face etched with exhaustion. “Cosima, what do you want from me?” “Let her stay,” I said. “It’s not like this is the first time she’s slept in our bed.” Sawyer’s breath hitched. His expression shuttered. Half a month ago, I had worked late. For the first time ever, Sawyer hadn’t driven over to pick me up. When I got home, I found Chloe wearing my silk nightgown and my slippers, lying in the bed Sawyer and I shared. Vomit covered the first portrait Sawyer had ever painted of me. Sawyer sat by the bed, looking every bit the concerned husband. I stood there, trembling, and a vicious fight erupted between us. “You didn’t pick me up because you wanted to be with her?” “Are you in love with her?” In the end, Sawyer didn’t even bother to explain. “Can you just stop making a scene?” “She’s not like you.” “Mark always protected her. She’s sheltered.” “She’s innocent. She’s not capable of the kind of scheming you’re imagining.” “Believe it or don’t.” A tight band of pain squeezed my chest, but I refused to let him see me cry. Sawyer said nothing more. He just slammed the door and left. Remembering that, I turned and went to the guest room to make the bed. Sawyer followed me, as if waiting for a reaction. But I gave him nothing. He wrapped his arms around me from behind, his lips brushing my ear. “I’ll get the portrait repaired soon.” “It’s at the studio now.” “I’ll take you to see it tomorrow, okay?”His studio. If he hadn’t mentioned it, I would have almost forgotten. He was a painter who hated anyone entering his studio. I’d tried a few times, but he always deflected. Eventually, I understood. In all these years, I had never once set foot inside. The last time I tried ......

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