The Ten Minute Husband Chapter 2

"Sienna is pregnant?"

I flipped the booklet open. Tucked inside was an ultrasound photo—a tiny, grainy smudge of life.

Marcus’s face went pale. He lunged for it. "Ma'am, that’s Ms. Reed’s private medical information."

"Why is her 'privacy' in my husband’s suitcase?"

"Mr. Everett just... he accompanied her to the appointment."

The phone was still active. Nate’s voice came through, cold and sharp. "Sienna hasn't been feeling well. I took her to the clinic. She’s not married and didn't want the news leaking to the press. Don't go spreading rumors, Eleanor."

I looked at the date on the ultrasound.

It was the same day as my first prenatal check-up.

Nate had promised to be there. We had reached the hospital entrance together, but then he’d claimed Sienna’s car had broken down and told me to go in alone. I had waited in line for four hours. When I came out, his phone was off.

He had been in the same building, blocks away in another wing, holding another woman's hand while she saw her baby for the first time.

"Who’s the father?" I asked.

"That’s none of your concern."

"You are my husband, Nate."

I could practically hear his patience snapping. "Which is why I’m telling you to drop it. Eleanor, you already have a child on the way. There’s no need to be this hostile toward someone who has no one else to turn to."

"I am simply asking who the father is."

Sienna’s voice suddenly entered the call, sounding as if she’d just woken up. "El, please don’t misunderstand. Nate and I... there’s nothing going on. I just didn't want my family to know yet. He’s just keeping my secret."

"And the father?"

She was silent for a moment, then a soft sob broke through. Nate immediately lowered his voice to a soothing murmur. "It’s okay. You don't have to say anything."

When he spoke to me again, he was finished with the conversation. "Are you satisfied? She’s early in her pregnancy; she can't handle this kind of stress."

I looked at my own diagnostic report sitting on the nightstand.

Threatened miscarriage. Subchorionic hemorrhage.

We were both carrying lives inside us. Sienna frowned, and he feared for her "stress levels." I lay in a hospital bed, bleeding out, and he only cared that I washed her laundry.

"Nate," I whispered. "I can't handle the stress either."

"But you’re fine, aren't you?"

The words left his mouth before he could think. The silence that followed was heavy, suffocating. I didn't argue. For the first time in our marriage, I hung up on him.