Chapter 4 - The Secret Behind Ashley’s Pregnancy
Nobody moved.
Jason stared at Ashley as though she had struck him.
“What did you just say?”
Ashley closed her eyes.
“I said the baby may not be yours.”
Patricia made a strangled sound.
I instinctively moved closer to Ethan.
This had nothing to do with me anymore.
At least, it shouldn’t have.
Jason laughed once.
Sharp and humorless.
“That’s ridiculous.”
Ashley reached into her purse.
“I was going to tell you tonight.”
She pulled out a folded document.
Jason didn’t take it.
“What is that?”
“A prenatal genetic screening report.”
His expression shifted.
Ashley swallowed.
“There were abnormalities in the dates. My doctor asked questions. I contacted Daniel.”
“Daniel?”
“My ex.”
Jason’s face transformed.
“You slept with him?”
“Before our wedding.”
“You told me—”
“I told you what you wanted to hear because every time I tried to talk about anything complicated, you decided what the truth was before I finished.”
I knew that feeling.
Too well.
Jason finally grabbed the paper.
His eyes raced over it.
“This proves nothing.”
“No. It doesn't.”
Ashley wiped her cheek.
“But neither did Olivia’s medical records.”
That landed harder than anything I could have said.
Jason looked at me.
For a moment, I saw something behind his anger.
Fear.
His entire life depended on certainty.
He decided who was guilty.
Who was inadequate.
Who had failed.
Uncertainty terrified him.
Ethan touched my elbow.
“We should go.”
This time I agreed.
We loaded the boys into the car while the party dissolved behind us.
As I buckled Theo into his seat, someone called my name.
Ashley.
She had followed us barefoot.
“Ashley?”
“Please.”
She stopped beside the car.
“I need to ask you something.”
I waited.
“Was he always like this?”
I knew exactly what she meant.
“Yes.”
Her eyes filled.
“Why didn’t anyone warn me?”
The question hurt more than I expected.
“Would you have believed them?”
She looked away.
Probably not.
I reached into the diaper bag and handed her a card.
It belonged to a counselor I had seen after my divorce.
“She helped me.”
Ashley stared at it.
“I’m not telling you what to do. But whatever happens with your baby, make your decisions because they’re right for you—not because Jason makes you afraid of disappointing him.”
Her fingers closed around the card.
“Thank you.”
We drove home.
I thought that would be the end.
I was wrong.
At 11:17 that night, Jason called.
I declined.
He called again.
And again.
Finally Ethan looked up from warming a bottle.
“You can block him.”
“I will.”
My phone buzzed with a voicemail.
I shouldn't have listened.
I did.
“Olivia, call me. We need to talk. I need to know exactly what your doctors found. I need to know if this was my fault.”
My fault.
Not what happened to you.
Not what did I put you through.
My fault.
I deleted the message.
Three days later, an envelope arrived by courier.
Inside were copies of medical records.
Jason’s.
There was also a handwritten note.
You deserve to know.
No signature.
Ethan refused to look at the records.
“They aren't ours to review.”
He was right.
I sealed them again.
But there was another page in the envelope.
A letter addressed to Jason from a fertility clinic dated four years earlier.
I recognized the date.
Six months before our divorce.
And I recognized one sentence before I could stop myself from reading.
Further male-factor evaluation is strongly recommended.
I sat down.
Jason had known.
Maybe not everything.
But enough.
Enough to understand that I had never been the only question.
And he had blamed me anyway.
That evening, Ashley called.
“I sent the envelope.”
“Why?”
“Because I found it in his safe.”
My hand tightened around the phone.
“He knew?”
“He knew there was a possibility.”
I closed my eyes.
Ashley continued.
“And Olivia?”
“Yes?”
“There’s more.”
Of course there was.
“There are messages between Jason and your old fertility clinic.”
My heart stopped.
“What messages?”
“He contacted one of the administrators after your divorce.”
“Why?”
“I don’t know yet.”
Then Ashley said the name.
“Dr. Malcolm Pierce.”
I nearly dropped the phone.
Pierce had supervised my treatment.
The man who had watched me cry in examination rooms.
The man who had repeatedly allowed Jason to sit beside me while I accepted all the blame.
“What did the messages say?”
“I only saw one.”
“What did it say?”
Ashley went quiet.
Then she read it.
“‘If Olivia ever requests the complete file, call me first.’”
A cold sensation moved down my spine.
“Why would my doctor call my ex-husband about my records?”
“I don't know.”
Neither did I.
But Ethan did know one thing.
When I told him, his expression became deadly serious.
“That would be wildly inappropriate.”
“Could records have been changed?”
“I don't know.”
“Could Jason have hidden something?”
“I don't know.”
I hated those words.
But for once, uncertainty didn't frighten me.
It made me angry.
The following morning, I requested every page of my original fertility records.
Not the summary.
Not the patient portal.
Everything.
Two days later, a thick package arrived.
Ethan and I sat at the kitchen table after the boys were asleep.
Page by page, we reconstructed three years of my life.
Blood tests.
Ultrasounds.
Hormone levels.
Treatment notes.
Then Ethan stopped.
“What?”
He stared at one page.
“Olivia.”
“What?”
“Do you remember this appointment?”
I looked.
“Yes.”
It was the appointment after which Jason told me the doctor believed my chances of conceiving naturally were almost nonexistent.
Ethan placed another document beside it.
“This is the physician’s actual note.”
I read the sentence.
Then read it again.
Patient demonstrates normal ovarian reserve. No definitive female-factor infertility identified. Recommend complete partner evaluation before further treatment.
My eyes blurred.
“He lied.”
Ethan said nothing.
“Jason lied to me.”
I remembered sitting in Jason’s car afterward.
I remembered him holding the steering wheel.
I remembered asking what the doctor had said after I stepped out to use the restroom.
Jason had stared straight ahead.
He had told me:
He said the problem is you.
For years, that sentence had lived inside me.
Now I knew the truth.
The doctor had never said it.
Jason had.
And suddenly the baby shower no longer mattered.
The divorce no longer mattered.
Even the humiliation no longer mattered.
There was only one question left.
Why?
Then my phone rang.
Unknown number.
I answered.
“Mrs. Bennett?”
“Yes?”
“This is Dr. Malcolm Pierce.”
My entire body stiffened.
“I understand you've requested your old records.”
“Yes.”
There was a pause.
May you like
Then he said something that turned my blood cold.
“There’s something about Jason Carter you were never told.”
