He didn’t answer. He was staring at the small of our baby’s back, at a mark I couldn’t see from where I lay.
“I’ll be right outside if you need me.”
“It can’t be,” he said, almost too softly to hear. “It can’t be, it can’t be.”
“Aaron.”
He leaned closer to the bassinet, as if a different angle might undo what he was seeing. His jaw worked. I watched him try to reason with it, watched something behind his eyes lose the argument.
“Rachel.” His voice was flat. “Can you… can you leave us for a minute?”
“What’s wrong with him?”
Rachel glanced between us, her professional smile holding. She snapped the gown closed with practiced hands.
“Of course. I’ll be right outside if you need me.”
The door clicked shut. Aaron didn’t move.
“Honey, you’re scaring me,” I said. “What’s wrong with him? Is he okay?”
“You asked him to help us.”
He turned his head slowly toward me. His eyes were wet, but not the way they had been ten minutes ago. Something in them had gone hard and far away.
“Michael.”
I blinked. “What?”
“Michael,” he repeated. “All those months I was working late. He was at the house. With you.”
None of this made sense.
I stared at him.
“Because you asked him to help us.”
Aaron looked back at the bassinet.
“Your son has his birthmark, Elena. The same shape. The same place.”
For a second I actually laughed, because I thought he was joking, because none of this made sense.
“He was alone with you.”
“Aaron, what are you talking about? He’s your son. What does Michael have to do with…”
“Don’t.” He held up one hand. “Don’t say his name to me like you don’t know.”
“I don’t know,” I said. My voice cracked.
“He was at the house. Every week. He was picking up the girls from school. He was alone with you.”
“A DNA test. Right now.”
