“Hi, I’m Estelle Merritt-Ashford,” Estelle said. “I’m here to register for prenatal care. Here are my insurance and identification cards.”
Estelle smiled as she said it. She had been smiling since last night, when, finally, after years of waiting, the test came back positive.
She slid two cards across the counter. It was Lucas’s family plan.
Estelle knew how it worked. She knew the routine. Hand over the cards, answer the questions, and wait for the paperwork. Easy.
The nurse took the cards and typed in the numbers. Then she stopped and gave Estelle a complicated look.
“This policy already has an open maternity file,” she said after a moment of silence.
Estelle smiled, thinking how considerate her husband was. Of course Lucas had set it up early. He always thought ahead and took care of things before she even had to ask. That was the kind of husband he was.
“Then my husband set it up early. That’s fine.”
The nurse pressed her lips together. She looked at the screen, then back to Estelle.
“No. The mother on the file isn’t you.”
“Say that again,” Estelle said, confused about what the nurse had just said.
“I’m not finding you on this policy at all, Ms. Merritt. The only person listed under Lucas Ashford’s family plan is Vanessa Cole. Are you sure this is your insurance?”
Estelle’s smile froze. The waiting room was loud, as a baby cried somewhere. People talked in hushed voices while a TV played a show no one watched.
“The account is under the person named Lucas Ashford.” The nurse read it off slowly. “But the person he registered as patient and wife is Vanessa Cole. First scan’s already done. She’s about twelve weeks along.”
Vanessa Cole. She’d never heard that name before. But the nurse was looking at her like she should know. Like Estelle was the last person in the world to find out.
Twelve weeks.
Estelle had found out she was pregnant last night. She stood in the bathroom, a test in her hand, and laughed. Tears brimming in her eyes. The doctors had told her years ago it would likely never happen. Ten percent, maybe even lower.
Yet she still fell pregnant.
And now, standing in a hospital waiting room, she learned that Lucas’s other wife was twelve weeks along. That meant Vanessa had been pregnant for three months. That meant Lucas had been planning this, or at least living it, while she was desperately hoping, praying, still taking tests that always came back negative.
“Miss, there must have been a mistake. That’s impossible. I’m his wife.” Estelle was surprised by how even and calm she sounded.
The nurse slid the cards back toward Estelle.
“You can check with the insurance owner,” the nurse said, giving Estelle a pitying look as if she already knew what Estelle would find out.
Estelle left the waiting room in a daze. She couldn’t understand what just happened. Did the nurse read the record wrong?
Just as she stepped out of the hospital, she saw a familiar figure walking with a woman toward the parking lot. Her husband of five years had his hand on the small of a woman’s back.
He walked slowly, matching the woman’s steps as if he was afraid she might fall. The woman beside him was small and dark-haired. She glowed, and one hand rested on her small baby bump.
Estelle sucked in a breath as if she was hit with a physical blow. In five years of being with Lucas, he had never held or looked at her the way he did with that woman. He was holding the woman as if she had always belonged there.
Estelle didn’t know how or why, but she followed them.
She could go home, pretend she hadn’t seen anything. She could wait for Lucas to come home and ask him about his day, and he would lie. She would believe him, and nothing would change.
The thought made her sick.
She hailed a cab and asked the driver to follow her husband’s car. The car took them across town to a club she’d never been to before. It was an exclusive club, and Lucas had a card.
Five years of marriage, and Estelle realized she barely knew her husband.
She gave the receptionist Lucas’s name, and it worked. That told her something too.
Inside was low light and music. Estelle kept herself small and hidden. Lucas and the woman slid into a booth with two other men. One of them, Estelle recognized. He was Lucas’s best friend, Travis—the best man during their wedding.
Estelle took the booth behind them, her back to them, and ordered a drink she didn’t bother to touch.
The woman leaned into Lucas’s shoulder as if she naturally belonged there. He turned his head, kissed her crown, and said something low against her ear. The woman smiled—an easy and satisfied smile of a wife.
Travis had always been loud. His voice carried over the music.
“Still can’t believe you pulled it off, Lucas,” Travis said with a grin. “Five years and Estelle never once checked?”
“Why would she?” Lucas sounded bored. “Estelle trusts whatever I tell her. Hand her a certificate, and she files it and forgets it.”
“But it’s not even real.”
Estelle’s hands trembled against the glass she was holding. She set it down before she dropped it. She stared at it because she couldn’t stare at them. She couldn’t tune them out and make herself stand up and leave.