“You might have been. Me? No. I’m not interested in diapers and sleepless nights and car pools and the PTA. I just can’t figure out how this happened. I’m religious about my pills.”

He looked away, bit his lip. Do not tell her, Ethan. Don’t make that mistake. His knees were beginning to burn. He stood and pulled a chair close, pulled her limp hand into his.

“Sutton. I want this child. I want us to have a family. Like you said, you’re religious about your pills. Sometimes, things happen, and you know I believe everything happens for a reason.”

“How will I write? How will you write?”

“We’ll get a nanny. We’ll hire a night nurse. Anything you want.”

Sutton hadn’t moved. “What’s the point of having a child if you aren’t the one raising it?”

“Sweetheart, would you rather I suggest you give up your work to raise a child? It’s very 1950s, but if you want me to act the caveman...”

“I think you should give up your work.”

Ethan didn’t move.

“Seriously, Ethan. If you want a baby so badly, then you give up your work, and take care of it.”

“I’d be willing to do that if you truly want me to.”

“A baby means more to you than your books? Than your mark on the world? You’re leaving something concrete behind, Ethan, we both are. Children aren’t the same—it’s a genetic lottery. It could be smart, it could have birth defects. You never know. And we aren’t at all equipped if this child isn’t absolutely 100 percent perfect, in every way. I don’t want to be saddled with a child. You can’t take the risk of a child ending your career. It’s better for us to just take care of things, and never think about this again.”

“You don’t mean that,” he whispered. “Please, Sutton. I know you don’t. I know you want this, too, deep inside. I know it. And I swear, I will handle everything. If you truly want nothing to do with raising our child, I will do it all. I am more than willing to abandon my art for this. For us, and our family.”

She sat quietly, watching him, the red hair floating around her face. “God, you actually mean that, don’t you?”

“I do. I swear it.”

She said nothing, stared over his shoulder. There was a bird feeder outside the window; he could hear the birds, dancing around the edges of the feeder, grabbing a bite, fluttering off, then rushing back. Wings beat the air. His heart stood still.

“I’ll think about it,” she said, finally, and he realized he’d been holding his breath. He gathered her into a hug, and she let him.

THE FRIENDS COME A-CALLING

Now

Ethan went through the rest of Sutton’s things quickly. There was nothing unusual about anything, outside the fact that the lifelines she clung to like air were here, and she was not.

He saw nothing that stood out on her computer. Her Dropbox was password protected so he couldn’t open her current work in progress—he knew she was working on some sort of big set piece fantasy novel, lots of bursting seams and knights with hard-ons—but she’d always been totally paranoid when it came to her work; she hid it from everyone until it was finished and in the hands of her agent.