Chapter 3
Marcus didn't come home until nearly midnight.
I was sitting on the living room couch with a blanket wrapped around my shoulders, pretending to watch television while my phone remained untouched beside me.
The lasagna I'd made for dinner had long gone cold.
When I heard his car pull into the driveway, I stood too quickly, one hand instinctively resting against my growing stomach.
For a brief, hopeful second, I imagined him walking through the door with flowers.
With an apology.
With the smile I'd fallen in love with years earlier.
Instead, he entered carrying only his briefcase.
He didn't kiss me.
He didn't ask how I was feeling.
He loosened his tie, placed his keys on the kitchen counter, and avoided my eyes.
"You're still awake?"
"I wanted to have dinner together."
He glanced at the untouched plates on the table before looking away.
"I'm not hungry."
"You haven't answered my calls."
"I was in meetings."
"For eight hours?"
He sighed.
"Kesha..."
"I've had a long day."
"So have I."
Silence settled between us.
Not the comfortable silence we'd once shared while reading books together.
This silence had edges.
Sharp ones.
I walked toward him slowly.
"Did your mother say something?"
Marcus looked up so quickly that I knew I had guessed correctly.
"What?"
"You've barely spoken to me since lunch with Patricia."
"She was just giving advice."
I folded my arms.
"About our babies?"
He didn't answer.
That was answer enough.
Over the next several weeks, our home became a place where conversations ended before they truly began.
Marcus left earlier each morning.
He returned later every night.
His laughter disappeared.
His phone never left his hand.
Sometimes I'd wake in the middle of the night to find his side of the bed empty.
I'd discover him standing alone on the back patio, staring into the darkness while talking quietly on the phone.
Every time I opened the sliding door, he ended the call.
"Who was that?"
"Work."
Always work.
One Friday afternoon I decided to visit Reynolds Capital.
Not to surprise him.
Simply to bring him lunch.
His assistant smiled politely when she saw me.
"Oh... Mr. Reynolds isn't here."
"He isn't?"
"He left about an hour ago."
"Did he have another meeting?"
She hesitated.
"I... assumed he told you."
My stomach tightened.
"Told me what?"
She looked embarrassed.
"He has lunch with Mrs. Reynolds every Friday now."
Every Friday.
For nearly two months.
I thanked her, walked back to my car, and sat behind the steering wheel without starting the engine.
Why hadn't he told me?
When had weekly lunches with his mother become a secret?
That evening, I decided not to ask questions immediately.
Instead, I waited.
Marriage, I believed, deserved one honest conversation before suspicion replaced trust.
Marcus came home around seven.
He looked exhausted.
I served dinner without mentioning Reynolds Capital.
We ate in silence.
Finally I placed my fork down.
"I visited your office today."
His hand froze halfway to his glass.
"Oh?"
"I brought you lunch."
He looked at his plate.
"I'm sorry I missed you."
"Your assistant said you have lunch with your mother every Friday."
Another pause.
"I forgot to mention it."
"You forgot?"
"It's just lunch."
"Every week?"
"Yes."
"For two months?"
He rubbed his forehead.
"Kesha..."
"Why does she suddenly need to see you every Friday?"
His voice became defensive.
"She's my mother."
"I know who she is."
"Then why are we arguing about this?"
"Because you stopped talking to me."
He stood.
"I don't want to fight."
"Neither do I."
"So stop turning everything into a problem."
The words struck harder than he realized.
I hadn't created the distance between us.
I had simply noticed it.
A week later, my twenty-week anatomy scan was scheduled.
It was the most important appointment since we had learned we were expecting quadruplets.
Marcus promised he would be there.
"I'll leave work early."
"You promise?"
"I promise."
I believed him.
At three-thirty that afternoon I sat alone in the examination room.
Three-forty.
Three-fifty.
Four o'clock.
No Marcus.
Dr. Carter entered with an apologetic smile.
"We shouldn't wait any longer."
I nodded.
"It's okay."
But it wasn't.
As the ultrasound began, four tiny faces appeared one after another.
Healthy heartbeats.
Healthy growth.
Four little miracles.
"You have two boys and two girls," Dr. Carter said warmly.
I laughed through unexpected tears.
"Perfect."
"They're doing beautifully."
I wanted Marcus to hear those words.
I wanted him standing beside me.
Instead, I reached for my phone.
One missed call.
Then another.
No answer.
Not even a text.
When I finally left the clinic, snow had begun falling over Boulder.
I sat inside my car for several minutes before starting the engine.
Halfway home my phone vibrated.
Marcus.
"I'm so sorry," he said immediately.
"The board meeting ran late."
I closed my eyes.
"You promised."
"I know."
"They're healthy."
A long silence.
"That's good."
Just...
That's good.
No questions.
No excitement.
No "boys or girls?"
No "Can I see the pictures?"
I looked down at the ultrasound photographs resting in my lap.
Four tiny profiles.
The future we'd once dreamed about together.
"I'll see you at home," I whispered.
That night I placed the ultrasound pictures on the kitchen counter.
Marcus noticed them immediately.
"They're beautiful."
He reached toward them.
Then stopped.
His hand hovered above the photographs before slowly pulling away.
Almost as if touching them would make everything too real.
"Kesha..."
"We need to talk."
I already knew.
People always begin difficult conversations with those four words.
I sat down.
"So do we."
He remained standing.
"I've been thinking."
"I know."
"I don't think..."
He swallowed hard.
"...I'm ready for this."
"For fatherhood?"
"For four children."
"You don't get to choose the number anymore."
"I know."
"I've tried convincing myself."
"I've tried imagining it."
"But every time I do..."
His voice broke.
"...all I see is everything disappearing."
"Our freedom."
"My career."
"The life we've built."
I stared at the man I'd loved for nearly eight years.
"The life we've built includes them."
"They're not even born yet."
"They're already your children."
He turned away.
"You don't understand the pressure I'm under."
"No."
"I understand something much worse."
He looked back.
"I understand that I'm standing here begging my husband to love his own children."
His face crumpled with guilt.
For a moment I thought he might come toward me.
Hold me.
Tell me he was afraid but willing to try.
Instead he quietly picked up his briefcase.
"I need some time."
He walked upstairs.
The bedroom door closed.
And for the first time since our wedding day...
I cried alone.
Three mornings later, I woke to the sound of voices downstairs.
Patricia Reynolds.
I recognized her immediately.
She had let herself into our home.
Again.
I stopped halfway down the staircase.
Neither of them knew I was listening.
"You have one chance to protect your future," Patricia said calmly.
"I won't watch you throw everything away."
"They're my children," Marcus answered.
"They're a liability."
"They're babies."
"They're four reasons every investor will question your judgment."
A painful silence followed.
Then Patricia spoke the sentence that changed all our lives.
"You can either spend the next twenty years raising four children..."
"...or spend the next twenty years building an empire."
I stood frozen on the stairs.
Waiting.
Praying.
For my husband to tell her she was wrong.
May you like
Instead...
Marcus said nothing.
