“Was the baby good today? Did she kick Mommy?” The intimacy in his voice made my skin crawl.
I went rigid, a wave of disgust crashing over me. I slapped his hand away and turned over.
“I’m tired. I want to sleep.” I shut my eyes, unwilling to look at his false face.
He pressed close again, aggrieved. “Rachel, what’s wrong with you today? Did I do something?”
I kept my eyes closed and said evenly, without a trace of emotion, “No. I just don’t feel well.”
Silence stretched behind me so long I thought he’d fallen asleep.
In the dark, he sighed softly, like a considerate husband. “I’m sorry, Rachel. I was thoughtless. The first trimester is tough—more sensitive, moods all over. I shouldn’t have upset you.”
He wrapped his arms around me again, but this time his touch was light, careful, as if I were something fragile.
“Sleep. I’m right here.”
I didn’t move, letting him hold me while breathing in that faint perfume on his skin—the scent that belonged to Olivia.
I spent the night sleepless beside him, a vast abyss yawning between us.
Early the next morning, Daniel prepared breakfast as usual and saw me out the door.
Before I left, he pressed a kiss to my forehead, the picture of tender farewell.