Halfway through the meal, he suddenly dropped to one knee and presented a velvet box. "You've suffered for me, Meredith. After Hillary gives birth, I'll hand the child to you to raise. You will always be Mrs. Palmer. No one can replace you."
Inside the box, a diamond necklace glittered. I didn't reach for it.
Suddenly, a sharp ringtone cut through the moment. He looked embarrassed and rose to answer. On the other end, Hillary's faint and fragile voice sounded. "Tristan... I think I'm hypoglycemic. I'm dizzy..."
Tristan's voice changed at once. "Where are you? I'm coming!"
She sniffled with practiced vulnerability. "I might need a transfusion... If something happens to me, save the baby first..."
"No—don't say that! You and the baby will be fine." His voice trembled. Then he glanced at me, like a man remembering a detail.
I spread my hands. "I didn't touch her."
He hurried over. "Meredith, you have the rare blood type—only you can save Hillary."
Before I could reply, he'd already called the family doctor and ordered a blood draw.