The clock over the stove ticked. I could hear it.
“Melissa doesn’t know.”
“Ryan.”
“I put on a shirt and tie every morning. I sit in the coffee shop until five. I send resumes. I’ve had two interviews in four months, and neither called back.”
I stared at him.
“The nursery,” I said slowly.
“Credit cards. Three of them. She thinks the crib came from our savings. There are no savings, Ivy. There haven’t been for weeks.”
I sat down too, because my legs stopped working.
“So when the doctor said surgeries,” I whispered.
“I saw a bill I couldn’t pay on top of bills she doesn’t even know exist.”
“There are no savings.”
Ryan took a breath.
“And when I saw the diagnosis, I knew I could use it. Melissa will grieve, but she won’t ever know I already failed her.”
“You were going to let her think you rejected your own child because of her condition? Just to protect your pride?”
“To protect her from me.”
“That’s the same thing, Ryan.”
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