had no problem addressing the issue at hand. “I’m guessing that you know about Isabella.”
She drew in a deep breath, her small chest rising and falling as if she needed all the courage the air could provide. “Can I tell you something personal?”
Though there was nothing I wanted less, I nodded, praying she wouldn’t share a Hallmark rendition of how she and David had met and fallen in love.
“I’ve lost two babies in the last five years.”
Surprise struck me. David had told me he never wanted children. I guess he just meant with me. I opened my mouth to say something appropriate, but no words came. The anguish brewing in her eyes told me an “I’m sorry” wouldn’t begin to cover it.
She struggled to maintain eye contact, then gave up and stared at her wedding band instead, twisting it back and forth on her bony finger. “One of my babies made it all the way to the third trimester. His name was Gabriel. Gabriel Matthew Preston. I held him as he took his last breath.”
She closed her eyes and cradled the air. I felt like an intruder, a voyeur of the worst kind, as I watched her grieve her phantom child. David’s son.
“Jenny, he was so tiny. So complete.” When she looked up, her pain seemed to melt into resolve. “The other died in the second trimester. His name was Joseph. Joseph is the patron saint of unborn children. Did you know that?”
I shook my head.
“I gave him that name before I knew that. He was my first.” Tears moved down her face, clearing a path through her blush. She wiped them away, looking embarrassed at her own weakness.
There we were, me not knowing what to say, and her sitting inches, miles, away. After a few moments, the silence became too heavy and I decided to unload it. “You know, Lindsey, this doesn’t seem to be any of my business.”
She looked back at the house. “Can I see her?”
My blood ran cold. “My daughter?”
“When I learned you claimed to have a child by my husband—”
Claimed? “I don’t claim that David is her father. David’s her father.”
“I think I’ll be able to tell for sure by looking at her.”
My face caught fire as I bolted up. “I think you should go. I may be a lot of things, but a liar isn’t one of them.”
“I’m not saying that you are.” She reached out to touch me.
I jerked away. “Do you want a DNA test?”
She stood, slipping her purse over her shoulder, looking maddeningly calm. Her chair continued to rock as though she still occupied it. “That wouldn’t be a bad idea, Jenny. For her sake.”
I ripped open the door, willing her to walk through it. “Only my friends are allowed to call me Jenny.”
She eyed the open door but made no move toward it. “I think you’re making a mistake. Even if she’s not his, she needs a father. It’s—”
I felt my fingernails dig into my palms as every muscle of my body tensed. “Get out of my house. Isabella is David’s daughter. She’s a beautiful, loving, charming child. And over my dead body will you or David ever get your hands on her.”
A slamming car door sounded from the driveway.
Lindsey turned toward the sound. “That’s David. I asked him to give me a few minutes alone with you before he came back.”
Unsure of what I should do or how I should feel, I put my hand over my mouth and closed my eyes. Maybe when I opened them, this would all be over. They’d be gone.
“Honey,” I heard Lindsey say, “it’s not going well.”
I opened my eyes.
David had rounded the house and was marching toward me like a soldier on his way to battle. His hair hung uncharacteristically tousled, and anger flashed from his eyes. A rush of pain overwhelmed me.
“Thanks for telling me I’m a father.”
Contrition sealed my mouth.
“We want to see her.” It wasn’t a request, but a demand.
“It’s not that easy, David. I’ll need to prepare her for—”
“She’s my daughter, right? That’s what you and your father are saying. I have a right
She drew in a deep breath, her small chest rising and falling as if she needed all the courage the air could provide. “Can I tell you something personal?”
Though there was nothing I wanted less, I nodded, praying she wouldn’t share a Hallmark rendition of how she and David had met and fallen in love.
“I’ve lost two babies in the last five years.”
Surprise struck me. David had told me he never wanted children. I guess he just meant with me. I opened my mouth to say something appropriate, but no words came. The anguish brewing in her eyes told me an “I’m sorry” wouldn’t begin to cover it.
She struggled to maintain eye contact, then gave up and stared at her wedding band instead, twisting it back and forth on her bony finger. “One of my babies made it all the way to the third trimester. His name was Gabriel. Gabriel Matthew Preston. I held him as he took his last breath.”
She closed her eyes and cradled the air. I felt like an intruder, a voyeur of the worst kind, as I watched her grieve her phantom child. David’s son.
“Jenny, he was so tiny. So complete.” When she looked up, her pain seemed to melt into resolve. “The other died in the second trimester. His name was Joseph. Joseph is the patron saint of unborn children. Did you know that?”
I shook my head.
“I gave him that name before I knew that. He was my first.” Tears moved down her face, clearing a path through her blush. She wiped them away, looking embarrassed at her own weakness.
There we were, me not knowing what to say, and her sitting inches, miles, away. After a few moments, the silence became too heavy and I decided to unload it. “You know, Lindsey, this doesn’t seem to be any of my business.”
She looked back at the house. “Can I see her?”
My blood ran cold. “My daughter?”
“When I learned you claimed to have a child by my husband—”
Claimed? “I don’t claim that David is her father. David’s her father.”
“I think I’ll be able to tell for sure by looking at her.”
My face caught fire as I bolted up. “I think you should go. I may be a lot of things, but a liar isn’t one of them.”
“I’m not saying that you are.” She reached out to touch me.
I jerked away. “Do you want a DNA test?”
She stood, slipping her purse over her shoulder, looking maddeningly calm. Her chair continued to rock as though she still occupied it. “That wouldn’t be a bad idea, Jenny. For her sake.”
I ripped open the door, willing her to walk through it. “Only my friends are allowed to call me Jenny.”
She eyed the open door but made no move toward it. “I think you’re making a mistake. Even if she’s not his, she needs a father. It’s—”
I felt my fingernails dig into my palms as every muscle of my body tensed. “Get out of my house. Isabella is David’s daughter. She’s a beautiful, loving, charming child. And over my dead body will you or David ever get your hands on her.”
A slamming car door sounded from the driveway.
Lindsey turned toward the sound. “That’s David. I asked him to give me a few minutes alone with you before he came back.”
Unsure of what I should do or how I should feel, I put my hand over my mouth and closed my eyes. Maybe when I opened them, this would all be over. They’d be gone.
“Honey,” I heard Lindsey say, “it’s not going well.”
I opened my eyes.
David had rounded the house and was marching toward me like a soldier on his way to battle. His hair hung uncharacteristically tousled, and anger flashed from his eyes. A rush of pain overwhelmed me.
“Thanks for telling me I’m a father.”
Contrition sealed my mouth.
“We want to see her.” It wasn’t a request, but a demand.
“It’s not that easy, David. I’ll need to prepare her for—”
“She’s my daughter, right? That’s what you and your father are saying. I have a right
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