Chapter 4

Emma's POV

In the weekend, I'd been sitting Cedar-Sinai's waiting room for forty minutes, clutching the insurance paperwork in my sweaty hands, watching other patients come and go. The stomach pain had been getting worse all week, I might as well take care of myself since no one else would.

"Emma Wilson?" The nurse called my name, and I followed her down the familiar hospital corridor. The smell of disinfectant made my already queasy stomach turn.

Dr. Martinez was a middle-aged woman with kind eyes and graying hair pulled back in a neat bun.

"What seems to be the problem today?" she asked, washing her hands at the small sink.

"I've been having stomach pain for about a week now. Sharp pains, nausea, just feeling off." I shifted on the examination table, the paper crinkling underneath me. "I thought it might be stress, but..."

"Let's take a look," Dr. Martinez said. "When was your last period?"

I had to think about it. With everything that had been happening with Ryan, I hadn't been paying attention to much else. "Um... about seven weeks ago? Maybe eight?"

Dr. Martinez paused in her note-taking. "Seven or eight weeks?"

"Yeah, I think so. Is that... is that bad?"

She smiled gently. "Let's do some tests and find out."

Twenty minutes later, I was sitting in her office, staring at a piece of paper that might as well have been written in a foreign language.

"Congratulations, Ms. Wilson. You're pregnant. About six weeks along, based on your hormone levels."

Pregnant. I felt my mouth open and close, but no sound came out.

"However," Dr. Martinez continued, her tone becoming more serious, "your hormone levels are a bit unstable. Nothing immediately dangerous, but you'll need to be extra careful. More rest, avoid stress and strenuous activity. I want to see you again in two weeks."

Avoid stress. I almost laughed out loud. My husband was having what looked increasingly like an affair, and I was supposed to avoid stress.

"Ms. Wilson? Are you alright?"

I blinked, realizing I'd been staring at the wall. "Yes, sorry."

She said kindly. "Your husband will be excited, I'm sure."

Will he? With everything that had been happening with Sophia, would Ryan even care? Or would this just be another inconvenience getting in the way of his time with his precious patient?

"Thank you," I managed to say, taking the paperwork with shaking hands.

I sat in my car in the hospital parking lot for twenty minutes, staring at the pregnancy test results in my hands. A baby. There was actually a tiny person growing inside me.

Maybe this changes everything. The thought crept in. Maybe a baby will remind him what's really important. Maybe he'll remember that I'm his wife, not Sophia.

I pulled out my phone and dialed Ryan's number, my heart racing. It went straight to voicemail.

"Hi, you've reached Dr. Ryan Mitchell. I'm currently in surgery. If this is a medical emergency, please contact the hospital directly."

Surgery. On a Saturday afternoon.

"Ryan, it's me," I said after the beep. "I... I went to the doctor today, and I have some news. Good news. Really good news. Call me back when you get this, okay? I love you."

I hung up and sat back in my seat, one hand instinctively moving to my still-flat stomach. Six weeks.

I spent the afternoon transforming our apartment into something special. I placed the pregnancy test and doctor's results on the dining room table, arranged like a surprise waiting to be discovered. I even bought sparkling cider to celebrate, since I couldn't drink wine anymore.

I can't drink wine anymore. The reality of pregnancy was starting to sink in. No more wine with dinner, no more late nights out, no more of the carefree life I'd been living. But looking around at the warm, inviting space I'd created, it felt like maybe that was okay. Maybe this was the beginning of something better.

I kept checking my phone, but Ryan hadn't called back. He's probably still in surgery, I told myself.

At five-thirty, I was arranging flowers in a vase when my phone buzzed with a text from an unknown number.

Unknown: Want to know what your husband is really doing? If you want to see more, go to Pacific Wheel amusement park and look at the Ferris wheel.

Attached was a photo that made my blood freeze.

Ryan and Sophia, standing close together near what looked like a carnival game. She was leaning into him, her hand on his chest, and he was looking down at her with an expression I recognized. The same look he used to give me.

I dropped my phone, and it clattered onto the hardwood floor. The sound echoed through our suddenly too-quiet apartment.

No. No, no, no.

I picked up the phone with trembling hands and looked at the photo again, hoping I'd imagined it. But there they were, clear as day. Ryan's arm was around Sophia's waist, and she was kissing his cheek while he smiled.

Pacific Wheel. I knew that place. It was only twenty minutes away, right on the Santa Monica Pier. A romantic spot overlooking the ocean, the kind of place couples went for special dates.

I was at home making his favorite dinner and preparing to tell him we were having a baby, he was at an amusement park with another woman. Letting her kiss his face. Holding her like she belonged to him.

I have to see this for myself.

The drive to Santa Monica felt like a nightmare. My hands were shaking so badly I could barely grip the steering wheel. Maybe it's not what it looks like, I kept telling myself.

But even as I thought it, I knew I was lying to myself. The way he'd been holding her in that photo wasn't professional. It was intimate.

Pacific Wheel was crowded for a Saturday evening, filled with families and couples enjoying the oceanside carnival atmosphere. The Ferris wheel loomed above everything else, its colorful lights just starting to twinkle in the early evening light.

I walked through the crowds, my heart pounding so hard I could hear it over the carnival music and screaming children. My eyes scanned every face, looking for the two people I was terrified to find.

And then I saw them.

They were just getting off the Ferris wheel, Ryan's hand on the small of Sophia's back as he helped her down the steps. She was laughing at something he'd said, her head thrown back in genuine joy. He was smiling down at her with that same tender expression from the photo.

They look like a real couple. They look like people in love.

I felt dizzy suddenly, the reality of my pregnancy and the stress of what I was seeing making my head spin. I shouldn't be here. The doctor said no stress.

I turned to leave, to run back to my car and pretend I'd never seen this, when Ryan looked up and spotted me across the crowd.

Our eyes met, and I watched his face go through a series of emotions. Surprise. Guilt. Panic.

He said something quickly to Sophia, then started pushing through the crowd toward me.

"Emma!" he called out, his voice carrying over the carnival noise. "Emma, wait!"

Run, my brain screamed at me. Just run.

But my feet were frozen to the ground. I stood there like an idiot as my husband ran toward me, leaving his 'girlfriend' standing confused by the Ferris wheel.

"Emma, what are you doing here?" Ryan reached me, slightly out of breath. He looked around nervously, as if checking to see if anyone was watching us.

"I could ask you the same thing," I said, surprised by how calm my voice sounded.

"This isn't what it looks like," he started, reaching for my arm.

"Don't." I jerked away from him. "Don't touch me."

"Emma, please, let me explain. Sophia was having an anxiety attack about her upcoming procedure, and I thought a change of scenery might help calm her down. This is just therapy, I swear."

Therapy. I stared at him, this man I'd loved for these years, and realized I didn't recognize him anymore. The Ryan I'd fallen in love with would never have lied so easily, so smoothly.

"Therapy," I repeated flatly.

"Yes! Medical therapy. Sometimes patients with anxiety disorders benefit from controlled exposure to fun activities. It's a legitimate treatment approach."

"And the kissing? Is that part of the treatment too?"

Ryan's face went pale. "What kissing? Emma, you're being paranoid—"

I pulled out my phone and showed him the photo. "This kissing."

He stared at the image, his mouth opening and closing. "Where did you get this?"

"Does it matter? Is this your idea of medical treatment, Ryan? Taking your patient on romantic dates while your wife sits at home making your favorite dinner?"

"It's not a date!" But his voice cracked on the words, and we both heard it.

"Stop lying to me!" The words exploded out of me louder than I'd intended. Several people nearby turned to stare. "Just stop! I can't listen to any more lies!"

"Emma, you're making a scene. People are looking."

"I don't care! Let them look! Let them see what kind of man you really are!"

Ryan grabbed my arm, trying to pull me away from the crowd. "Emma, calm down. You're being hysterical."

"Hysterical?" I yanked my arm away from him so hard I stumbled backward. "I'm being hysterical because my husband is having an affair and lying to my face about it?"

"I'm not having an affair!" But even as he said it, his eyes darted toward where Sophia was still standing, watching us with wide, frightened eyes.

"You're pathetic," I said, my voice shaking with rage. "You're a pathetic liar who can't even own up to what he's doing."

He tried to grab me again, and I just lost it. I spun around and slapped him hard across the face.

Ryan stumbled backward, his hand flying to his face, staring at me with complete shock.