If Caleb wasn’t involved, he’d react—ask what I was doing, tell me I was confused.
But when I returned to the kitchen, he glanced at me, then at my phone. “Everything alright?” he asked, voice a little too careful.
“Family stuff,” I said.
Ten minutes later, the doorbell rang.
Caleb froze. His face drained like someone had unplugged him from the world. Slowly, he whispered, “What… did you do?”
He already knew. That was my answer.
“I invited Mariah over,” I said evenly. “Is that a problem?”
His panic said everything he wouldn’t.
The doorbell rang again.
“What is she pregnant with?” I asked softly.
He didn’t answer.
So I asked the real question. “Is it yours?”
His mouth opened, closed. Then a whisper: “It was one time. It meant nothing.”
The words struck like a slap.
Mariah knocked harder. “Ellie?” she called. “Please open.”
I moved around Caleb, ignoring his attempt to block me, and opened the door.
Mariah stood there with red eyes and shaking hands. When she saw Caleb behind me, she flinched.
“You told me she wasn’t home,” she whispered.
I stepped aside and asked, “How far along?”
“Ten weeks,” she said, voice breaking.
Ten weeks of lies.
“Did you tell him you couldn’t abort?” I asked.