He Slept With My Sister, When I Was Giving Birth

Evelyn

"It was the gardener who took me to the hospital." The words felt strange coming out of my mouth. I stared at the thin hospital blanket covering my legs, picking at a loose thread. "Luis. The guy who mows our lawn."

Susan sat in the chair beside my bed, her hair pulled back in a messy ponytail. She'd come straight from work, still wearing her scrubs with the little cartoon frogs on them.

"When I couldn't reach Damon..." I trailed off, not sure how to explain the fear of that moment. The panic. The pain.

Susan reached over and squeezed my hand. "Hey, it's okay." Her voice was steady, the same voice she'd used when we'd hide under blankets during thunderstorms as kids, sharing a flashlight and making up stories to drown out the thunder. "You don't have to talk about it if you don't want to."

But I did want to. I needed to. The words had been building up inside me since yesterday, threatening to choke me if I didn't let them out.

"He hung up on me, Sus." My voice was quiet. "I told him something was wrong, that the baby was coming, and he hung up. Then he wouldn't answer."

Susan's eyebrows pulled together. "Are you sure he understood what you were saying? Maybe there was bad reception, or—"

"He understood." I swallowed hard. "And then he showed up this morning with lipstick on his collar. Didn't even ask about the baby. Just said 'congratulations' like I'd won a raffle or something."

The bassinet next to us made a small noise as the baby—my daughter—shifted in her sleep. So tiny she barely took up any space in there. Her little chest rising and falling with breaths that seemed too fragile to sustain life.

Susan followed my gaze to the bassinet but quickly looked away. "I'm sorry about the landline," she said, changing the subject. "It's been acting up all week. And I had this awful migraine yesterday, couldn't even look at my phone without feeling sick." She touched my arm. "If I'd known..."

"It's not your fault." I gave her a tired smile. "You're here now."

Susan nodded, looking relieved. She glanced at her watch. "Mom and Dad send their love. They'll come by tomorrow—Dad's got that meeting with his publisher today."

Of course. Our parents were always busy with something. Dad with his books, Mom with her charity work. Susan and I had practically raised each other.

"Does she have a name yet?" Susan gestured vaguely toward the bassinet, still not looking directly at it.

"Ava," I said. "I was thinking Ava Rose."

"Pretty." Susan fiddled with the strap of her purse. "Has Damon seen her?"

"No." The word came out sharper than I intended. "He left before the nurse brought her in. Honestly, I don't think he even wants to see her."

Susan's expression was hard to read. "Things have been bad between you two for a while now, haven't they?"

I nodded, memories flashing through my mind: dinner tables with only one place set, nights waiting up for him only to fall asleep alone, the growing distance I couldn't seem to bridge no matter what I tried.

"I think he's cheating on me," I said finally. The words didn't hurt as much as I expected. Maybe because I'd known it for months, felt it in the mate bond that once connected us but now felt stretched thin and frayed. "I can feel it... here." I touched my chest, just over my heart. "But I don't know who it is."

Something flickered in Susan's eyes, there and gone too fast to catch. She shifted in her seat, her hand slipping from mine.

"You want me to find out?" she asked, her voice controlled.

"Would you?" I leaned forward, desperate for any help, any ally in this mess my life had become. "You've always been good at getting people to talk. Maybe you could..."

"I'll handle it," Susan said, cutting me off. She stood abruptly, smoothing down her scrubs. "But Evelyn, you need to prepare yourself. Confronting a cheating mate rarely ends well." She didn't quite meet my eyes. "Let me talk to him first, okay? Maybe I can get through to him."

Relief flooded through me. "Thank you," I said, reaching for her hand again. "I don't know what I'd do without you."

Susan squeezed my fingers, but it felt mechanical, like she was going through the motions. "I should go. Early shift tomorrow."

"Already? But you just got here."

"I'll come back tomorrow, I promise." She gathered her things, pausing at the door. "Try to get some rest. You look exhausted."

Before I could respond, she was gone, the door clicking shut behind her.

The room felt emptier, quieter without her. Outside the window, afternoon was sliding into evening, long shadows stretching across the hospital parking lot. I could see people going about their normal lives, getting into cars, heading home to families who were waiting for them.

Ava made a small sound, and I turned to look at her, really look at her for the first time since the nurses had cleaned her up and placed her in my arms. She had my nose, I thought. Maybe Damon's chin. Her skin was still wrinkled and red, her eyes unfocused when they opened briefly.

Would he ever look at her? Would he ever hold her and feel that rush of love I'd felt, even through the haze of pain and exhaustion?

I touched my stomach, still swollen and tender. Everything hurt—my body, my heart, my pride. But looking at Ava, I felt something else too. Something stronger than the pain.

"We'll be okay," I whispered to her, not entirely sure I believed it.

I got used to the 3 AM quiet. The particular stillness of the house when everyone else was asleep and it was just me and Ava in the yellow glow of her nursery lamp. Her tiny fingers would curl around mine while she nursed, and I'd watch shadows play across the ceiling, wondering where Damon was sleeping.

He came home less and less. When he did appear, it was only to shower and grab fresh clothes before disappearing again. One evening, I found him standing in the doorway of the nursery I'd spent months decorating—the clouds I'd painted on the ceiling, the bookshelf filled with stories I remembered from childhood. He looked at it all like he was seeing a stranger's house, then silently moved his remaining things to the guest room down the hall.

I tried to talk to him once, catching him in the kitchen early one morning.

"She has your eyes," I said, watching him pour coffee into a travel mug.

He stared at me for a long moment, then screwed the lid on his mug and walked out without responding.

Susan visited every few days, bringing takeout and watching bad reality TV with me while Ava slept. She never mentioned Damon, and I stopped asking if she'd talked to him. The answer was in the growing distance between us, in the cold silences that filled our home.

I was changing Ava one morning when my phone buzzed with a text.

Need Q3 projections for board meeting. Bring to office ASAP. - Marissa (That was Damon's assistant)

I stared at the message, my pulse quickening. This was the first real connection to Damon in weeks—even if it was through his assistant.

"What do you think, Ava?" I asked, tickling her belly. "Should we go see Daddy at his office?"

She blinked at me, uncomprehending but beautiful.

Twenty minutes later, I'd found the folder in his home office and was heading to the kitchen, an idea forming. The chicken porridge I'd made yesterday was still in the fridge—his favorite. I packed a container carefully, adding a sprig of parsley the way he liked.

"Maybe this is our chance," I told Ava as I strapped her into her carrier. "Maybe seeing you, seeing us... maybe it will remind him of what's important."

The hope was small, fragile, probably foolish. But it was all I had left to hold onto.

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