It was never mentioned again. I don’t know if Stuart told Nina. I didn’t tell Ben, not for any reason. The moment never organically arose. I wonder now, was some kind of seed planted then? Did I subconsciously respond to Stuart’s kindness, anchor a part of myself to him in the hope that someone like him would be able to save me from myself?

I can’t read. I switch on the TV to try to drown out the endless hospital noises—cleaners, food carts, medical staff, visitors—but it’s impossible. I drift. I hear the curtain being pulled back. I open my eyes, expecting to see a nurse, hoping it’s Stuart, but it’s Deborah. My stomach plummets.

She sits in the visitor’s chair, her back straight, clutching her stiff, black handbag.

“It’s not too late, you know, to end this charade,” she says.

It sounds like something she’s rehearsed.

“What do you mean?”

“Marie, do yourself the hugest favor. Don’t marry him. No good will come of it. I know it’s not what you want to hear, I know you’re expecting, but there are other ways. You can co-parent—” it sounds like she’s read a relevant article online the way she says it “—leave yourself free to meet someone else. There are many decent men.”

“I love Stuart.”

“No, you don’t. You love the idea of him. Nina felt sorry for you, she wanted to give you hope. She felt desperately sorry that you couldn’t conceive. But...this! She’d be horrified. It’s bordering on incestuous.”

“That’s very dramatic, Deborah. I’m sorry for everything, but I’m here to stay. I loved Nina, too, I will do what’s best for Felix and Emily. I promised her that and I promise you that. Please, try to trust me.”

“I’ve known you too long,” she says. “You lie compulsively.”

“I’m different now. I wouldn’t lie about something as serious as this.”

I bet Deborah has told a fib or two in her life. I’d put money on the fact that everyone else on this ward who can overhear this pointless conversation has told many a lie between them, too. Honesty is only the best policy if it’s beneficial.

“I so want to believe it, but the evidence is right before our very eyes that it’s simply not true. Look at what happened with college. You could never leave Nina be, to just live her life.”

Nina did want some healthy distance between us. She didn’t tell me that she’d applied for art college, wanting to keep her future plans vague.

“Oh, I don’t know,” she said whenever we talked about the future. “Art history maybe. Or I’ll just travel. Visit Italy, study art there. The possibilities are endless.”

So, yes, I snooped. I knew it wasn’t ideal or right, but I didn’t feel I had much choice. I searched her room when I visited. It wasn’t hard, Nina was just so...careless. She was one of those people who believed that bad things only happened to other people. She assumed she could trust me. And she could, to a point.