He sighed, leaning forward. “It’s unfortunate things came to light this way.” An interesting choice of words; he meant to diffuse responsibility. “But maybe it’s not all bad,” he added. “Maybe there’s some good to come of it, for us and our relationship.”

“Some good to come of it,” I repeated, astounded. “What good could possibly come of this?”

The waitress returned with large pasta spoons, delicately placing them before us, and the silence between the three of us was thick and awkward. She quickly left.

“I’m trying to level with you, Caroline. I’m here, now, telling you that I’ll do counseling, I’ll do soul-searching, I’ll do whatever.”

My solo trip to London was meant to be like a counseling session for me—until, of course, James showed up at my door. And his flippant manner angered me further. “Let’s start the soul-searching now,” I said. “Why did you do it? Why did you let it continue after the promotion event?” I realized that despite my desire to know the gruesome what and how, what I most wanted to know right that moment was...why? A question struck me at once, something I hadn’t considered before. “Are you scared of trying for a baby? Is that why?”

He looked down, shook his head. “Not at all. I want a baby just as much as you do.”

A small weight lifted inside of me, but the problem-solving part of me wished he’d said yes; then we could hold the truth up like a diamond, set it in front of the light and address the real issue. “Then...why?” I resisted the urge to spoon-feed him any more possibilities, and I brought the rim of the wineglass back to my lips.

“I guess I’m just not entirely happy,” he said tiredly, like the words alone exhausted him. “My life has been so safe, so fucking predictable.”

“Our life,” I corrected.

He nodded, conceding this. “Our life, yes. But I know you want safe. You want predictable, and a baby needs that, too, and—”

“I want predictable? I want safe?” I shook my head. “No, you have that all wrong. You didn’t support me applying to Cambridge because it was so far away. You—”

“I wasn’t the one to rip up the application,” he said, his voice like ice.

Undeterred, I went on. “You didn’t want kids early in our marriage because of the burden while working long hours. You begged me to take the job at the farm because it was secure, comfortable.”

James tapped two fingers against the white tablecloth. “You accepted the job, not me, Caroline.”

We fell silent as our waitress arrived with two bowls of pasta and set them in front of us. I watched her walk away, making careful notice of her perky, perfectly shaped ass, but James’s eyes stayed solidly on me.