We eased down the long gravel drive toward Freya and Max’s home. My stomach was in knots, the smallest bump in the path making me nauseous. I wanted to tell Brian to turn around, tell him we needed to go home to discuss and strategize. But we were here now, and there would be no turning back. We needed answers. If we had somehow gotten this wrong, if the baby was Max’s, they would never forgive us. But if we had gotten it right . . .

I was anxious, terrified, but I felt something else . . . a glimmer of hope. This baby might be my husband’s child. Was there a way that Freya and I could both be mothers? I know it sounds weird and “out there” but we lived on an island with a progressive, highly alternative culture. Low’s family was the perfect example. They shared their children and their partners with ease and aplomb. Everyone was loving and happy and devoted. Except Low . . . but I wasn’t sure her misery could be blamed on her family’s makeup.

And Freya wasn’t jealous or possessive. She’d let me sleep with her husband without a second thought. Perhaps she would let me mother her child, too? Joint custody would take the pressure off her. She’d have time to exercise, to pamper herself, to travel. She and Max could work on their marriage and his self-hatred issues without the demands of a baby. Over time, they might find that they preferred the child live with us full-time. They could visit. They could take it to Disneyland. But Brian and I would be its real parents. I would be its mother.

But if Freya had wanted us to be a part of the baby’s life, why had she lied to us? Why had she hidden her child’s paternity?

Brian stopped the car behind the white Range Rover and turned to face me. “Who could have sent you that e-mail?”

“I don’t know,” I said. “Maybe someone with a grudge against Max and Freya?”

“But why did they send it to you? It has to be someone who knows I slept with Freya. It has to be someone who’s concerned about the baby.”

I swallowed. There was only one person I could think of who didn’t want them to have that child.

“Could it be Max?” I said.

“Could it be Freya?” Brian suggested.

We both sat there, mulling the possibilities. Max had never seemed excited about the baby. Freya could have gotten cold feet. They were the only ones who knew the infant’s true paternity.

“What about Low?” Brian suggested.

“No,” I said instantly. “She’s an odd kid, but she wouldn’t do something like this. And besides, she doesn’t know what we did that night. Freya wouldn’t tell a teenager that we had a couples’ swap. That would be sick.”