Chapter 2 - THE ANSWER I DIDN’T DESERVE
The clerk called our names again.
“Marcus Bennett and Alina Bennett?”
Alina turned toward the courtroom.
I didn’t.
I couldn’t.
My eyes were still fixed on the hand resting over her stomach.
“Alina.”
She stopped.
I lowered my voice.
“Please.”
Something moved across her face.
Exhaustion, maybe.
Or anger so old it no longer needed heat.
“Is the baby mine?”
She looked directly at me.
“Yes.”
The word hit me harder than if she had slapped me.
I actually took a step backward.
Mine.
My child.
Seven months.
I had spent most of those seven months discussing property division with attorneys while my wife went to prenatal appointments without me.
“How sure are you?”
The moment I said it, I hated myself.
Alina went completely still.
There are questions a husband can ask and still expect a marriage to survive.
That was not one of them.
“I shouldn’t have said that.”
“No.”
Her voice remained calm.
“You shouldn’t have.”
“Alina—”
“I had a prenatal paternity test done at twelve weeks.”
That shut me up.
Her chin lifted.
“You were the only possible father. But after the things you accused me of, I knew eventually someone would ask.”
Shame crawled up my throat.
“What did it say?”
“Ninety-nine-point-nine percent probability.”
I closed my eyes.
Mine.
There had never been another man.
At least not in the way I had convinced myself there was.
The courtroom door remained open.
The clerk looked impatient.
“We need to go in,” Alina said.
I followed her because I suddenly had no idea what else to do.
Our attorneys were already inside.
Mine, Oliver Kane, rose when he saw me.
Alina’s attorney, Rachel Kim, immediately pulled out the chair beside her.
“You okay?”
“I’m fine.”
“You look pale.”
“I said I’m fine.”
The judge entered.
Everybody stood.
Ten minutes later, what I expected to be a simple uncontested dissolution became anything but.
Judge Marjorie Ellis read the filing, glanced over her glasses, then looked directly at Alina.
“Mrs. Bennett, I understand there has been a material change in circumstances.”
Alina placed one hand on her stomach.
“Yes, Your Honor.”
“And the expected due date?”
“January twenty-third.”
My chest tightened.
I hadn’t known the date.
January twenty-third.
Suddenly it felt carved into me.
The judge looked toward me.
“Mr. Bennett, do you acknowledge paternity?”
Oliver leaned close.
“We can reserve—”
“Yes.”
My answer came before he finished.
Oliver stiffened.
The judge studied me.
“You are acknowledging that you are the biological father?”
“Yes, Your Honor.”
Alina looked at me for the first time since we sat down.
I didn’t look away.
The judge returned to the documents.
“Then I cannot approve this agreement in its present form. It contains no provisions addressing an unborn child, future custody, insurance, support, or medical expenses.”
Oliver stood.
“Your Honor, the parties can supplement—”
“No.”
The judge closed the folder.
“This dissolution will be continued.”
I should have cared about the procedural consequences.
I didn’t.
All I could think was that the court had just given me more time in a marriage my wife had already emotionally left.
The judge scheduled another hearing six weeks later.
Then she looked at both of us.
“I don’t know what brought you here.”
Her tone softened slightly.
“But there is now a child involved. I strongly suggest the two of you stop communicating exclusively through attorneys.”
That sentence struck me differently than it should have.
Alina gathered her coat.
Outside the courtroom, I followed her.
“Wait.”
She kept walking.
“Alina.”
“What?”
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
She laughed once.
No humor.
“You really want that answer?”
“Yes.”
She turned.
“Because the morning after we conceived this baby, you left for work without kissing me.”
I froze.
That night.
Of course.
We had already been sleeping separately for weeks.
Then, after an argument about the divorce neither of us had filed yet, something broke open.
We talked until two.
We cried.
We remembered who we used to be.
And for one night, we stopped being two people preparing to leave.
The next morning, fear returned.
I went to work.
Three days later, I asked for a divorce.
Alina continued.
“Two weeks after that, you told me every conversation should go through Oliver.”
“I was angry.”
“I know.”
“I didn’t know you were pregnant.”
“I didn’t either.”
“When did you find out?”
“Five weeks.”
I counted.
“You could have called.”
“I did.”
My head snapped up.
“What?”
“Twice.”
“I never got a call.”
“I left a message with your office.”
“I didn’t receive it.”
“I emailed.”
“I didn’t see anything.”
Alina’s eyes narrowed.
“I also sent a letter to Oliver.”
I turned toward my attorney, who was standing twenty feet away speaking with a clerk.
“What letter?”
“The one saying there was a significant medical development and I needed to speak with you directly.”
My stomach tightened.
“Oliver never gave me anything.”
“Then ask Oliver.”
Before I could move, Alina grabbed my sleeve.
“No.”
I looked down at her hand.
“What?”
“I am not doing this in a courthouse hallway.”
“You tried to tell me?”
“Yes.”
“Then why stop?”
Her expression finally cracked.
“Because three days after I sent that letter, you signed the first settlement proposal.”
I remembered.
The proposal had included a demand that we limit all personal contact because discussions had become “emotionally unproductive.”
Oliver’s phrase.
Not mine.
But I had signed it.
Alina’s eyes filled.
“I was not going to show up at your apartment seven weeks pregnant and beg a man who believed I had cheated on him to care about me.”
“I never stopped caring.”
“No.”
She shook her head.
“You stopped trusting me. For a marriage, that was enough.”
I had no defense.
A familiar voice came from behind us.
“Marcus?”
I turned.
My younger brother Owen stood at the far end of the hallway.
He wore a dark suit and the worried expression he had perfected over a lifetime.
“What happened? I thought this would be over by now.”
Alina’s fingers dug into my sleeve.
I felt it.
Fear.
Not irritation.
Not anger.
Fear.
Owen walked closer.
Then his gaze dropped to her stomach.
His face changed.
Only for half a second.
But Alina saw it.
So did I.
“You’re pregnant.”
She moved closer to me instinctively.
Owen recovered.
“Well.”
He smiled thinly.
“That complicates things.”
I looked at my brother.
Something about the sentence bothered me.
“What are you doing here?”
“Oliver told me the hearing was today.”
I turned toward my attorney again.
Why was my divorce lawyer updating my brother?
Owen shrugged.
“I thought you might need someone afterward.”
Alina’s breathing had changed.
“Marcus.”
I looked at her.
She whispered, “Don’t let him come near me.”
Owen stopped smiling.
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
I stepped between them.
“Alina?”
Her hand moved protectively over our child.
“I didn’t tell you something because I had no proof.”
“What?”
She stared at Owen.
“Three months ago, somebody followed me home from my obstetrician’s office.”
Owen laughed.
“And you think it was me?”
“I didn’t say that.”
“You were looking at me.”
Alina ignored him.
“The next morning, an envelope was under my apartment door.”
My blood went cold.
“What was inside?”
“Photographs.”
“Of what?”
“Me.”
Her voice dropped.
“At the doctor. At the grocery store. Sleeping beside my window.”
Every hair on my arms rose.
“Why didn’t you call police?”
“I did.”
“And?”
“No fingerprints. No usable camera footage.”
Owen shook his head.
“This is paranoia.”
Alina reached into her bag.
She handed me her phone.
A photograph filled the screen.
Her apartment window.
Taken from outside.
Written across the bottom in black marker:
SIGN THE DIVORCE AND KEEP THE BABY OUT OF BENNETT BUSINESS.
I looked at my brother.
Owen’s face went very still.
“What the hell is that?”
May you like
“I was hoping you could tell me,” Alina said.
And for the first time that morning, the baby was no longer the only thing I was afraid of.
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