Mark leaned against the counter. “I was upset,” she continued. “You and I had fought before you left.” “About what?” “Your mother.”
The wedding. Money. Everything. He remembered fragments. Laura had felt Mark’s family was taking over the wedding.
Mark had told her she was overreacting. It had been the kind of fight couples assume is temporary because the future still seems guaranteed. “Andrew came by because he had boxes from your parents’ house,” Laura said. “He could tell I’d been crying. We drank wine.
We talked.” Mark closed his eyes. “And then?” “You know.” “No,” he said.
“Say it.” Laura’s face twisted with shame. “I slept with him.” The bluntness made Mark grip the edge of the counter. “One time?”
“One time.” “Did you want it?” She looked shocked by the question, then understood why he needed it. “Yes. It wasn’t assault.
It wasn’t coercion. I made that choice.” Mark nodded once. Painful honesty was still better than strategic ambiguity. “What happened after?”
“We both panicked.” Andrew left. I called him the next day and told him it could never happen again. He agreed. When you came home, I almost told you.
“Almost.” “I was terrified.” “So you married me.” “Yes.” “And then got pregnant.”
“About five weeks later.” Mark looked up sharply. Five weeks. It was close enough to blur paternity completely if no test had been done. “I thought Tyler was yours,” Laura said quickly.
“At least at first. The timing fit both of you, but I convinced myself it was you. Then when he was born, Andrew came to the hospital and…” “And what?” “He said Tyler looked like him.” Mark felt sick.
“Did I hear that?” “No. He whispered it when you went to get coffee.” “And you two made a decision in my son’s hospital room.” Laura sobbed once.