Once I grabbed my coat and said, "Wait, I'll come with you."
Ethan stopped in the doorway. "You don't have to."
That stung.
"Wait, I'll come with you."
Sometimes he came back with little updates.
"She's craving oranges."
"Her back is bothering her."
"The baby kicked today."
I should have felt included by those updates, but mostly I just felt like someone receiving a postcard from a trip I wasn't on.
And then there were the folders.
Sometimes he came back with little updates.
Ethan had always been organized, but this was something else. He kept receipts, doctor's notes, and printed photos. Everything was filed and labeled.
"Why are you saving all of that?" I asked one evening.
He shrugged. "Just being organized."
I nodded, but something about it seemed excessive.
Everything was filed and labeled.
One night, I finally said what I'd been thinking for weeks.
"Ethan. Don't you think you're visiting Claire a little too much?"
He blinked. "What are you implying?"
"I'm not implying anything. It just feels… strange."
He laughed. "Sweetheart, she's carrying our baby. I just want her to have a smooth pregnancy."
