"She was safe here. With us. And the two of you turned the place I gave her to recover into this." No one tried to answer. Ava walked back to her chair but did not sit.
She picked up her water glass, found her hand trembling, and placed it down before it spilled. She had not eaten in nearly an hour, yet she felt painfully full, as though every confession had become a stone in her stomach. "Is the baby definitely yours?" she asked Ryan. Lily looked up sharply. "Yes."
Ava turned toward her. "I asked him." Ryan swallowed. "As far as we know, yes." "As far as you know?"
Lily's face reddened. "I haven't been with anyone else since before I moved home." Ava believed her. Lily was many terrible things in Ava's mind at that moment, but promiscuous was not one of them, and turning the affair into a question about Lily's sexual history would not change the betrayal. Still, Ava had needed to hear the answer because practical questions were easier to survive than emotional ones.
"Are you planning a paternity test?" Ryan said, "If Lily wants one after the baby is born." Ava stared at him. "You've discussed that." "We had to discuss practical things."
"You've discussed after the baby is born." He looked down. Ava felt something in her chest go quiet. "You've already started building a future around this." "No."
"You just told me you talked about what happens after the birth." "Because there will be a child. Whatever happens between you and me, whatever happens with Lily, there will still be a child. I can't pretend otherwise." The logic was correct.
That made it worse. Ava turned away and stared at the dark window. Her own reflection hovered over the rainy glass, superimposed on the faint outline of neighboring houses. Somewhere beyond those windows, families were watching television, putting children to bed, loading dishwashers, living ordinary Thursdays. She wondered whether disaster always felt this private while it happened.
"What do you want me to do?" Ryan asked. Ava turned back. "Right now?" "Yes."
"I want you to stop asking me to solve the consequences of what you did." "I'm asking what you need." "I needed a husband who didn't sleep with my sister. That option is gone." Ryan's face tightened.
"Do you want me to leave tonight?" he asked. Ava almost answered immediately, but something stopped her. Sending him away felt necessary. It also felt like making a permanent decision while her mind was still catching up to the fact that there was a decision to make. "I don't know," she said.
It was the first uncertainty she had admitted. Ryan nodded carefully, as if any sudden movement might change her mind. "Okay." "Don't sound relieved." "I'm not."
"You are." He looked down again. Ava hated that she still knew him well enough to read his face. She hated that part of her could remember the exact way he looked asleep, the way he always forgot where he set his keys, the way he made pancakes too large for the pan on Sunday mornings. Betrayal had not erased love instantly.
It had simply made love humiliating. That realization finally brought tears to her eyes. Ryan saw them and took one involuntary step toward her. Ava raised a hand. "Don't."
He stopped. She wiped her cheek with the heel of her palm. "You don't get to comfort me from something you caused." "I know." "Stop saying you know.