Daniel stared at me as if I had just said something absurd.

—What?

I picked up another napkin and wiped my hands slowly.

—Let’s get divorced.

His face changed.

Not much.

Daniel had always been good at controlling his expressions.

But I knew him well enough to notice the tiny things.

The way his jaw tightened.

The way his fingers closed around the wet coat in his hand.

The way he looked at me as if he were waiting for me to laugh and say it had been a joke.

I didn’t.

—Ava, don’t be childish.

I almost smiled.

There it was.

The same tone.

The same certainty that every problem between us existed only because I was too emotional.

—I’m not being childish.

—You see me with Evelyn once and suddenly you want a divorce?

I looked at him.

—Do you really think this is about today?

He pulled out the chair across from me and sat down.

Water from his hair dripped onto the table.

—Then tell me what it’s about.

For three years, I had dreamed about hearing that sentence.

Tell me.

Ask me.

Listen to me.

Now that he finally said it, I felt nothing.

—I’m tired.

Daniel frowned.

—Of what?

—Of being your wife.

His expression darkened.

—Ava.

—You wanted a wife who didn’t ask questions. Who didn’t get jealous. Who didn’t complain when you disappeared with your first love.

I leaned back.

—Congratulations.

—You finally have her.

His eyes narrowed.

—What does that mean?

—It means I don’t care anymore.

He laughed once.

Coldly.

But it sounded forced.

—You expect me to believe that?

—I don’t need you to believe anything.

I reached for my drink.

Daniel suddenly grabbed my wrist.

His fingers landed exactly where the skin near my bandage was still tender.

Pain shot up my arm.

I flinched.

He immediately released me.

His eyes dropped to the bandage.

This time he looked properly.

—What happened?

—Nothing important.

—Stop saying that.

For the first time, his voice rose.

Several people nearby looked toward us.

Daniel lowered it again.

—Why are you getting your bandage changed?

I stared at him.

I could have told him.

Right there.

I could have told him everything.

That three months earlier I had stood in our kitchen holding an ultrasound photo, planning how to surprise him.

That I had called him because the pain had started suddenly.

That I had ended up alone in the hospital.

That there had been no heartbeat.

That afterward, I had gone home to a silent house and thrown away the tiny gift box I had prepared for him.

But I didn’t want his pity.

Not anymore.

—It’s already healed.

Daniel’s eyes hardened.

—Ava, I’m your husband.

—Not for much longer.

His expression went completely still.

Then his phone rang.

Evelyn.

He looked at the name.

Then rejected the call.

I noticed.

Once, that would have meant everything to me.

Now it meant nothing.

Daniel leaned forward.

—You are not leaving until you explain what’s going on.

I looked at him.

—You really want to know?

—Yes.

—Fine.

I pulled my phone from my bag.

Opened my photo gallery.

Scrolled back three months.

And placed the phone on the table.

The first photo was an ultrasound.

Daniel stopped breathing.

His eyes moved slowly from the screen to me.

—What is this?

I said nothing.

He grabbed the phone.

The date was clearly visible.

His face drained of color.

—You were pregnant?

—Yes.

His lips parted.

Nothing came out.

Then he looked at the next image.

A hospital bracelet.

The next.

A discharge document.

The next.

A photograph Clara had taken of my bandaged arm because she had insisted I document everything.

Daniel’s hands began trembling.

—Ava…

I took the phone back.

—Don’t.

His voice came out rough.

—Where is the baby?

I looked at him for a long moment.

Then answered quietly.

—There is no baby.

Everything in his face collapsed.

—What do you mean?

I didn’t soften it for him.

—We lost the baby.

Daniel went completely pale.

For several seconds, he just stared at me.

Then he shook his head.

—No.

I almost laughed.

Not because it was funny.

Because denial was such a luxury.

—I called you three times.

His eyes snapped toward mine.

—When?

—That night.

His expression changed.

He remembered.

I could see it.

The unanswered calls.

The ones he had probably silenced.

—You were with Evelyn.

Daniel stood so quickly that the chair scraped loudly against the floor.

—Why didn’t you tell me afterward?

That question finally made something sharp rise inside me.

—Afterward?

I looked up at him.

—You came home and told me not to start.

His face froze.

—I asked you what I was to you.

I spoke each word carefully.

—You told me Evelyn was your first love and reminded me that I knew about her before marrying you.

Daniel looked as if someone had struck him.

—I didn’t know.

—Exactly.

—Ava, if I had known—

—You would have answered?

He fell silent.

—Would you?

Still nothing.

I smiled faintly.

—That’s what I thought.

Daniel sat down again.

His face had changed completely now.

No coldness.

No impatience.

Only shock.

—The burn?

—That same night.

—How?

—It doesn’t matter.

—It matters to me.

—Too late.

He flinched.

For the first time, I saw what indifference could do to him.

Maybe because he had never imagined receiving it from me.

Daniel rubbed both hands over his face.

—Why didn’t Clara tell me?

I laughed.

—Because I asked her not to.

—Why?

—Because I wanted to know how long it would take before you noticed something was wrong.

His hands stopped.

I continued.

—Three months, Daniel.

—Three months of hospital appointments.

—Three months of bandage changes.

—Three months of sleeping separately.

—Three months of barely speaking.

I looked directly at him.

—And you only noticed today because you happened to see me at the hospital.

He didn’t respond.

His phone rang again.

Evelyn.

This time Daniel turned it off completely.

—Ava, I made mistakes.

—Yes.

—But divorce—

—Isn’t punishment.

I interrupted him.

—It’s not revenge.

—It’s not because I want you to suffer.

I picked up my bag.

—I’m divorcing you because I finally understood I don’t want this marriage anymore.

That frightened him more than anger ever could.

He reached across the table.

—Give me one chance.

I stood.

—You had three years.

—Ava.

—Go back to Evelyn.

His face twisted.

—There is nothing between Evelyn and me.

I stopped.

—What?

Daniel stood too.

—Not anymore.

I stared at him.

He continued.

—Her appointment today wasn’t what you think.

I almost walked away.

But something in his expression stopped me.

—Then what was it?

Daniel hesitated.

For the first time that afternoon, he looked afraid.

—She asked me to come because she received some medical results.

—And?

He swallowed.

—She is pregnant.

I stared at him.

Then laughed softly.

—Congratulations.

Daniel’s face changed sharply.

—It’s not mine.

I froze.

He reached into his pocket and pulled out a folded document.

—That’s why I followed you here.

He placed it on the table.

At the top was Evelyn’s name.

Below it was the name of the emergency contact.

Daniel Foster.

But another line caught my attention.

Father of child: Michael Foster.

My fingers stopped.

Michael.

Daniel’s older brother.

The brother who had died eleven months earlier.

I looked up slowly.

Daniel’s voice was barely above a whisper.

—Evelyn wasn’t my first love.

My heartbeat stumbled.

—What?

He looked at the hospital report.

Then back at me.

—She was Michael’s.

And suddenly, the story I thought I understood became something else entirely.