The only thing that suddenly seemed suspicious in hindsight was his laptop.

For weeks, he had been staying awake late at night in the kitchen.

Whenever I asked what he was doing, he said,

“Baby budget stuff.”

One night I walked in for water and caught him shutting the laptop too quickly.

“You okay?” I asked.

“Just numbers,” he said. “You know me.”

And I did know him.

Or at least I thought I did.

So I had dismissed it.

Now I wasn’t so sure.

I looked down at my sleeping son.

We had already chosen his name.

Owen.

We picked it weeks earlier, after my grandfather—the man who helped raise me after my father disappeared from our lives.

James had loved it.

He had repeated it across the kitchen table.

“Owen.”

Like he was testing how it sounded.

Like he was making a promise.

And now, suddenly, he wanted me to leave the name line blank.

I reached for my phone.

My hands were still shaking from labor.

I dropped it once against the blanket before finally finding James’s contact.

I called.

Four rings.

Voicemail.

“James, where are you? Please call me.”

I tried again.

Nothing.

Then again.

Still nothing.

By the fourth call, I stopped leaving messages.

A soft knock came from the door.

Nurse Maeve stepped inside carrying paperwork.

“Whenever you’re ready, we can get the baby’s information filled in. No rush.”

I looked at the clipboard.

“My husband stepped out. Can we wait a little?”

She gave me a curious look but nodded.

“Of course.”

She left the forms on the tray and walked away.

The blank line for the baby’s name seemed suddenly enormous.

About ten minutes later, my mother rushed into the room carrying yellow tulips.

“Olivia! Oh my God, look at him!”

She kissed my forehead.

Then Owen’s head.

Then me again.

Her mascara was already smudged.

“Where’s James? I want to congratulate him.”

My stomach tightened.

“He stepped out.”

Mom frowned.

“Stepped out where?”

“I don’t know.”

She stopped smiling.

Then her expression changed.

“Olivia…”

“What?”

“I think I saw him.”

My heart started pounding.

“Where?”

“In the parking lot.”

She sat down beside the bed.

“I was pulling into a space when I saw a man who looked exactly like James getting into the passenger seat of a car.”

I stared at her.

“There was another man driving. He was wearing some kind of uniform. I didn’t recognize him.”

“What kind of car?”

“I don’t know. But there was a sticker on the back window.”

She hesitated.

“I think it said hospice.”

“Hospice?”

“I could be wrong.”

But I barely heard that part.

I was stuck on the fact that James had left the hospital with someone I didn’t know.

Then I told her the other part.

“He told me not to fill out the birth certificate.”

Mom’s face hardened.

“He what?”

“He said to wait until he came back.”

Her mouth tightened into the expression I remembered from childhood.

“Olivia, listen to me.”

“Mom…”