Part 3My Unborn Son's Secret

When I got home, Leo was sitting on our worn-out sofa, lost in thought. He looked up the second I walked in, his eyes lighting up for a fraction of a second before the hope flickered out, leaving them dull again.

“The pasta’s ready,” he said quietly.

I looked at the two bowls on the table, one larger than the other, then back at his cold, distant face. My appetite vanished.

“I’m not hungry. You eat.”

I clutched the small plastic bag and disappeared into the bathroom. As I expected, no second line appeared on the tests. It was too soon. Even a blood test at the hospital wouldn’t show anything yet. I’d have to wait a few more days to tell him.

I washed my hands and came out. Leo was still on the sofa, a storm cloud of gloom hanging over him. He looked utterly alone. I sat down cautiously on the other end of the couch, and we lapsed into silence.

Both of us came from unhappy families; it was part of what had propelled us into such a hasty marriage. In the two years since, he’d spent two-thirds of his time on the road for work. We were together so little, and we never found a common language to bridge the distance. To be honest, we communicated more in bed than we ever did out of it.

I knew he was under immense pressure, but I didn’t know how to help. I’m not the motivational speaker type, so the best I could do was try not to bother him.

For some reason, I felt particularly fragile tonight. Before I knew it, tears were silently tracking down my cheeks.

Leo glanced over, then quickly looked away. His voice was tired, resigned. “With my situation now… it might be like this forever. Leaving me is the right choice. I won’t blame you. You don’t need to feel guilty.”

He really was hung up on what I’d said. The thought made my chest ache. I couldn’t take it anymore. I stood up and went back to the bedroom.

The apartment was silent for a long, heavy half-hour before I heard the faint rustle of movement. About ten minutes after that, the front door opened and closed.

A single thought seared through my mind: He’s leaving me.

I couldn’t hold it in any longer. A gut-wrenching sob broke from me, and I started to howl, burying my face in the pillow. I was so lost in my grief that I didn’t hear the door open again.

Suddenly, the bedroom door swung open. Leo stood there, pinching his nose, holding out a container of takeout ramen. The pungent, savory smell filled the room.

“Eat something,” he said. “Don’t starve yourself.”

I stared at him, dumbfounded. It took me a moment to process. I grabbed a tissue, scrubbed at my tear-streaked face, and mumbled, “Thanks.”

“You’re welcome.”

See? That’s how we were. So formal, so polite. Like strangers.