Chapter 5 - What Jason Had Known
Dr. Pierce asked to meet in person.
I refused.
“If there’s something in my medical history I have a right to know, tell me now.”
Silence.
Then a sigh.
“Your husband—your former husband—was advised to undergo testing several times.”
“I know.”
“He eventually did.”
I stopped breathing.
“When?”
“Approximately seven months before your separation.”
My fingers went numb.
“And?”
“I cannot legally disclose another patient's medical information.”
“Then why are you calling?”
“Because I can discuss what pertains to your treatment.”
I waited.
“Your treatment should have stopped.”
My stomach dropped.
“What?”
“Once information became available indicating that additional procedures on you were unlikely to address the primary concern, I recommended that you both return for counseling.”
“But we continued.”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
Another silence.
“Jason insisted you not be informed until he had obtained a second opinion.”
I stood from the kitchen table.
Ethan watched me from across the room.
“He had me keep taking hormones.”
“Yes.”
“He watched me blame myself.”
Dr. Pierce’s voice became quieter.
“I should have insisted on speaking to you privately. I regret that.”
Regret.
Such a small word for years of pain.
“Why did you contact Jason when I requested my file?”
“I didn't. He asked to be contacted. I refused.”
That surprised me.
“So the message Ashley found—”
“Was his request, not my agreement.”
I closed my eyes.
At least one piece of the nightmare wasn't as bad as it looked.
But the central truth remained.
Jason had known.
I thanked Dr. Pierce and hung up.
Ethan crossed the room.
I told him everything.
He didn't tell me what to feel.
That was one of the things I loved most about him.
He simply held me while the past rearranged itself.
The next morning Jason appeared outside our house.
I saw him through the security camera.
He looked exhausted.
I almost ignored him.
Then I went outside alone, leaving Ethan inside with the boys.
Jason stared at the house.
“So this is where you live.”
“What do you want?”
“I know you talked to Pierce.”
Of course he did.
“How?”
“He called my attorney.”
I folded my arms.
“You knew.”
Jason looked away.
“You knew, and you let me believe it was me.”
“It wasn't that simple.”
“It actually is.”
“I was scared.”
“So was I.”
“You don't understand.”
I laughed.
“No, Jason. I understand perfectly. You were afraid something might be wrong with you, so you made sure I believed something was wrong with me.”
His jaw tightened.
“I was raised differently.”
There it was.
An excuse dressed as an explanation.
“My father believed—”
“I don't care what your father believed.”
He flinched.
“You don't get to hand me your childhood and ask me to pay the bill.”
Jason stared at me.
For once, there was no clever answer.
“I loved you.”
“No.”
His eyes snapped up.
“You loved the version of yourself you got to be when I took all the blame.”
That silenced him.
Then a tiny voice came through the open window behind me.
“Mama!”
Oliver.
Jason's face changed.
I turned instinctively.
Ethan appeared inside, holding Oliver.
Our son slapped both hands against the glass.
“Mama!”
I smiled.
When I looked back, Jason was crying.
I had never seen him cry before.
Not during treatments.
Not during our divorce.
Not once.
“They’re beautiful,” he whispered.
“Yes.”
“I wanted that.”
“I know.”
“With you.”
I shook my head.
“No. You wanted children more than you wanted me.”
That was the difference.
Jason wiped his face.
“Ashley left.”
I hadn't known.
“She’s staying with her sister until the paternity results come back.”
“That's between you and Ashley.”
“She thinks I'm a monster.”
“I don't.”
He looked surprised.
“I think you were a frightened man who made cruel choices because blaming someone else was easier than facing yourself.”
Somehow that hurt him more.
“Can you forgive me?”
I looked through the window.
Ethan had placed Oliver down.
Now all four boys were clustered near the glass.
My beautiful chaos.
“I already did.”
Jason looked stunned.
“You did?”
“Yes.”
Hope appeared in his face.
I extinguished it gently.
“Forgiveness doesn't mean access.”
He stared at me.
“It means I don't want to carry you anymore.”
I went inside.
Jason remained on the driveway.
For the first time in our history, I left him behind.
A month passed.
Then Ashley called.
The baby was Jason's.
I expected that news to repair their marriage.
It didn't.
Ashley filed for separation.
She told Jason she would consider reconciliation only if he entered counseling and stopped treating fatherhood like proof of masculinity.
To everyone's surprise, he agreed.
Meanwhile, my life became wonderfully ordinary again.
Four babies learned to walk at approximately the same time.
Our house became a demolition zone.
Ethan and I stopped owning clean furniture.
We argued over whose turn it was to change diapers and laughed when neither of us could remember the answer.
Then, one Tuesday morning, I woke nauseated.
I blamed exhaustion.
Wednesday, same thing.
Thursday, Ethan found me staring at a pregnancy test.
Two lines.
He looked at it.
Then at me.
Then at the four toddlers destroying breakfast behind us.
“No.”
I started laughing.
He pointed at the test.
“No, Olivia.”
“Apparently yes.”
“We already have four.”
“I can count.”
“We're outnumbered.”
“We were outnumbered at three.”
He sat down slowly.
Then he started laughing too.
At our first ultrasound, I squeezed his hand.
The technician smiled.
“One heartbeat.”
Ethan exhaled dramatically.
“Thank God.”
I slapped his shoulder.
Then the technician frowned.
My heart stopped.
“What?”
She moved the probe.
Her expression softened.
“Nothing bad.”
She turned the monitor.
“One healthy baby.”
Tears filled my eyes.
But before we could celebrate, my phone vibrated.
A message from Ashley.
Olivia, I need your help. Jason disappeared last night.
And beneath it was another message.
A photograph.
Jason's abandoned car.
May you like
The driver's door was open.
There was blood on the seat.
