I pressed both hands against my stomach.
“You knew.”
“I was your wife, Mark. You didn’t have to protect me from everything.”
That was the first time I’d been angry with him since he died.
It felt awful.
It also felt honest.
***
Two days later, Violet arrived carrying a small embroidered blanket.
“I’ve been thinking Cecelia should carry Mark’s name somehow.”
It felt awful.
I stared at her.
“We already chose her name.”
“She should have something from her father.”
“She doesn’t need his name added to hers to be his daughter.”
Violet’s eyes flicked toward my stomach.
“Mark told me he’d changed his mind.”
“We already chose her name.”
“No, he didn’t.”
“You weren’t part of every conversation we had.”
“Neither were you.”
“He kept things from you.”
That one landed.
But it didn’t make her right.
“Neither were you.”
