“It’s no wonder the police were suspicious.” She hesitated, then said, “Probably not the anniversary celebration you expected. If there’s anything I can do...” She trailed off, as lost for words as I was. The situation, after all, wasn’t remedied. James might have been on the mend, but we were not. I envisioned us together in Cincinnati again, trying to undo the tangled knot he’d brought into our lives, but the vision was murky and unsatisfying, like an ill-fitting resolution at the end of an otherwise decent movie.

Gaynor reached into her bag and pulled out my notebook. When I’d left the interrogation room with the police, I hadn’t even noticed that the notebook remained in the center of the table, right in front of Gaynor. “I didn’t look through it,” she said. “I thought I’d give you a chance to...explain.” Her face twisted as though she didn’t want to know the full truth—as though her ignorance would keep us both safe.

This was my last chance to escape unscathed; my last chance to salvage a remnant of our friendship. By falsifying a story about my own research, I could avoid admitting to the worst wrongdoing of all, which was that I’d breached a precious historical site. If I told her, who knew what she may do? She might chase after the two officers and report the offense; she might cash in on the incredible, newsworthy discovery; or she might reject me altogether and tell me to never contact her again.

But this wasn’t about what Gaynor would or would not do with the information. This was my burden, and if there was anything I’d learned in recent days, it was that secrets wreaked havoc on lives. I needed to let out the truth about my trespassing—which now seemed minor, relative to the murder charge I’d nearly faced—and I needed to let out the truth about the unfathomable discovery I’d made.

“There’s something I need to show you,” I said at last, checking to ensure the waiting room remained empty. I pulled out my cell phone and navigated to my photos of the lost apothecary’s register. Then, with Gaynor peeking eagerly over my shoulder, I began to unveil the truth.

When I returned to James’s bedside, it was midafternoon. Little had changed—only now, he slept soundly. When he woke, later, there were a few things I needed to tell him.

Before settling myself into the chair near the window, I made my way to the restroom. Suddenly I froze, looking down at myself with wide eyes: I’d felt that unmistakable, leaking sensation from between my legs. Clenching my thighs together, I rushed into the cold bathroom in James’s hospital room and sat down on the toilet.

Thank God, I finally had my answer: I was not pregnant. I was very much not pregnant.