My Husband Forced Our Daughter to Save His Nephew

Four weeks after the clinic visit, the pregnancy test came back positive.

Bianca turned into a full-time performer.

Every single day was a show. She wore loose, floaty dresses. She walked slowly with one hand permanently resting against her lower belly. She complained about morning sickness every time Derek walked into a room, letting out delicate little sighs. Her text messages lit up his phone at all hours.

*Derek, the baby is craving strawberry milkshakes. Can you pick one up after base?*

*Derek, I feel so dizzy today. Could you bring Callum some soup?*

He always went. He would buy two large milkshakes and drive straight to her house before he ever set foot in ours.

On Sunday, I made dinner. I roasted a whole chicken with carrots and rosemary potatoes. I set the table, hoping for one quiet family meal.

Bianca sat across from Derek. She picked at her food, pushing a carrot around her plate with a fork.

Suddenly, she gasped. She dropped her fork with a soft clatter and pressed her palm against her stomach. Her eyes went wide.

Derek dropped his knife instantly. "What is it? Are you hurting?"

"No," Bianca whispered. Her voice was trembling and breathless. She reached across the corner of the table. Her fingers wrapped around Derek’s wrist. She pulled his large, calloused hand over and pressed it flat against her stomach.

"He moved," she said softly. Tears shimmered in her eyes. "Did you feel that? Mark's boy just moved."

My fork froze halfway to my mouth.

She was four weeks along. The embryo was the size of a poppy seed. It had no arms, no legs, and no muscle tissue. It was biologically impossible to feel anything.

I waited for Derek to say it. He was a smart man. He knew how human biology worked.

Instead, Derek’s face transformed.

His rigid military jaw softened completely. The lines around his eyes melted into pure, breathtaking wonder. He looked at Bianca’s flat belly with a tenderness he hadn’t shown me in over a year. He didn't pull his hand away. He stroked his thumb gently over the floral cotton of her dress.

"Yeah," Derek whispered, his voice thick with emotion. "I felt him."

My stomach churned. A sour, bitter taste flooded my mouth.

I stood up from the table. My chair scraped against the wood floor. "Excuse me."

Neither of them looked up.

I walked into the kitchen and pushed the door shut. I stepped to the sink and gripped the cold porcelain until my fingers went numb. I cranked the faucet handle all the way to the left. The water blasted out, roaring against the metal drain.

I bent over the sink. A hot, suffocating knot jammed in my throat. I squeezed my eyes shut, letting the sound of the rushing water swallow my ragged breathing. I couldn't let them hear me break.

With my thumb, I grabbed the gold band on my left ring finger. I twisted it hard. Round and round. The metal ground against the swollen skin of my knuckle until it burned.

*Hold on,* I told myself. *Just hold on.*

***

The following Saturday morning, Derek surprised me.

He came down the stairs wearing jeans and a black fleece jacket. He grabbed his truck keys off the entry table.

"I’m taking the kids to the county carnival," he announced.

I stopped folding towels on the sofa and looked at him. "Both of them?"

"Leyla and Callum," he said, checking his watch. "The weather is clear. They need fresh air."

A tiny spark flared in my chest. A cautious, foolish hope. Leyla had been so quiet lately. She had started retreating to her room whenever Derek came home. Maybe he had noticed. Maybe some small piece of the father he used to be was waking up.

Leyla came running down the hall. Her eyes were bright. She was wearing her favorite yellow sneakers.

"Daddy!" she squealed, bouncing on her toes. "Are we going on the Ferris wheel? The big giant one with all the colored lights?"

Derek reached out and patted the top of her head once. "We'll see, Leyla. Go grab your jacket."

I walked them to the front door. On the driveway, Leyla reached up and took Derek’s hand. Her tiny fingers wrapped tightly around two of his thick fingers. She was smiling, skipping every two steps just to keep up with his long stride. She looked up at him like he hung the stars.

I stood on the porch and watched the truck pull away. I said a silent prayer that the afternoon would go well.

Three hours later, my cell phone rang.

The caller ID showed Derek’s name. I wiped my hands on an apron and picked up. "Hey. Did you guys have fun?"

"I'm at Bianca's," Derek said. His voice was clipped and tight. In the background, I heard Callum whining and the hum of a television.

My brow furrowed. "At Bianca's? Where’s Leyla? Did she go inside to play with Callum?"

"No," Derek snapped. He sounded completely irritated. "Callum had a massive tantrum near the game booths. He was screaming, shaking, totally exhausted. His immune system can’t handle the noise and the crowds. He needed to get home immediately."

A cold prickle traveled down the back of my neck. "Okay... so where is Leyla?"

"I sent her home."

The room went dead silent.

"What do you mean, you sent her home?" My voice dropped to a whisper.

"I told you, Callum was hysterical," Derek said, his words coming fast and defensive. "Leyla was crying, tugging on my hand, whining that I promised her the Ferris wheel. She thought we were staying all day. I couldn't carry a sick child and drag her through a crowd of hundreds of people."

"Derek," I choked out. The air vanished from my lungs. "Where. Is. My. Daughter."

"I flagged down a yellow cab at the gate," Derek said bluntly. "I wrote our home address on a piece of paper, gave the guy a twenty, and put her in the back. She's five years old, Sabrina. She knows our street name. Go stand on the porch and wait for her. She should be pulling up now."

The line clicked. He hung up.