My husband said he was flying to Denver for work, so I went to my prenatal appointment alone. While waiting outside maternity triage, I saw him rushing down the hall with one arm around a heavily pregnant woman

alone beneath the maternity-ward clock, one hand resting on my baby, wondering whether honesty could still repair something secrecy had already changed.

PART 3 — ENDING

Maren’s son was born at 2:18 that afternoon.

I know because I was still in the hospital cafeteria when Adrian texted me.

“He’s here. Both safe.”

I read the message.

Then turned my phone face down.

For the first time since seeing him in that hallway, I wasn’t trying to solve the mystery.

It was solved.

Adrian had a daughter.

He had known for