The words hit me harder than his hand did.
A vasectomy. Four years ago.
He’d been letting me cry over negative tests for two years, knowing the whole time it was impossible.
“So whose is it?” he continued, his voice getting louder. “Who have you been sleeping with behind my back? How long has this been going on?”
The room was still dead silent. My mother had her hand over her mouth, tears streaming down her face. My father looked like he wanted to end someone, but couldn’t make his legs move. And then someone was kneeling beside me—warm hands on my shoulders, helping me sit up, brushing glass away from my dress.
I looked, and it was Jeff.
His face was pale with shock as he stared at his brother like he was seeing a monster.
“What the hell is wrong with you?” Jeff said, his voice shaking with anger. “You just hit your pregnant wife in front of everyone.”
He helped me to my feet and positioned himself between me and Evan like a shield. Evan was pacing back and forth like a caged animal, running his hands through his hair.
“Two years I let you make me feel guilty for not giving you a baby. And this whole time you were spreading your legs for someone else.”
He turned to the room, arms wide like he was inviting everyone to see what I really was.
“Look at her. Look at her standing there pretending to be confused. She knows exactly what she did. She knows exactly whose baby that is.”
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