“Why?”
“Because every time I waited, telling her became worse.”
“That’s not an answer, Andrew.”
“I was afraid she’d look at me and see him.”
“And?”
“And I love her.”
“That doesn’t make this better.”
“I know.”
Amanda’s voice floated in from the living room.
From the living room, Amanda called, “Mom, Dad says newborns don’t need socks. Please explain civilization to him.”
Neither of us responded.
She laughed again, and Andrew glanced toward her voice.
“There’s more.”
“No.”
He faced me again.
“What?”
“You don’t get to give me the favorable context first.”
“It’s not favorable.”
“Whatever your father did afterward, Amanda first.”
He understood what I meant.
“Why tonight?” I asked. “You’ve kept this secret through dating, marriage, and almost a year of waking up beside my daughter. Why is tonight suddenly unbearable?”
Andrew’s gaze returned to the little booties.
“Because she wants to name our baby after him.”
That was the reason.
Not a new diagnosis.
Not a recurrence of Amanda’s illness.
A baby’s name.
“I can’t let her do that, Christie.”
Something in his wording bothered me.
Then I realized what it was.
“You can’t let her?”
Andrew looked startled.
“Christie, if she knew what Dad did…”
“Then tell her.”
“She may hate the name. She may hate him. She may hate… me.”
“Maybe,” I said.
Tears gathered in his eyes.
“You don’t get to decide she can’t use the name either.”
He fell silent.
I gestured toward the living room.
“You tell her.”
Andrew wiped his cheeks.
“What if this changes everything?”
“It might.”
“What am I supposed to tell her it means?”
“Nothing.”
He looked confused.
“Amanda decides what it means,” I said.
Amanda called for him from the next room.
He held my gaze one final moment, then walked toward her.
I followed.
***
Amanda immediately sensed something was wrong.
“What happened?”
Andrew took a seat opposite her.
“Before we talk about the baby again, I need to tell you something I should’ve told you before our first date.”
“Okay,” Amanda said, her brow drawing tight. “That’s not a sentence anybody wants to hear from their husband.”
Andrew began explaining.
He told her about his father, the follow-up that hadn’t happened, and the time that might have been lost.
Finally, he admitted he’d recognized her history before ever walking into her hospital room.
Amanda got to her feet and went outside alone.
None of us followed.
After a while, the door opened.
“Mom?”
I stepped onto the porch beside her.
She gazed across the yard.
“Was I a project?”
“I can’t answer that for him, sweetheart.”
“What do you think?” she asked.
“I think he loves you.”
She turned toward me.
“And I think loving you didn’t give him the right to decide what you could handle.”
Amanda gave a small nod before asking to speak with Robin.
When I explained what had happened all those years earlier, he sank into a chair.
“That doctor told me we were worrying too much.”
“I remember.”
“I told you maybe he was right.”
“You were trying to believe a doctor.”
“I was her father.”
Later, Robin confronted Andrew.
“Did your father ever blame us for not coming back sooner?”
“Never.” Andrew paused. “He blamed himself for making you believe you didn’t need to.”
Robin turned away.
***
That evening, Amanda eventually asked Andrew to sit beside her.
“When you looked at me in that hospital, who did you see?”
“At first? The girl my father never forgot.”
Amanda visibly flinched.
“And after?”
Andrew considered his answer.
“The morning you could barely sit up and spent ten minutes arguing that your mother needed a better chair.”
Amanda couldn’t quite suppress a smile.
“After that, you were Amanda.”
She looked at him carefully.
“I believe you love me. I don’t believe you had the right to hide this.”
“I didn’t.”
Andrew explained that his father had later advocated additional reviews for unresolved pediatric cases.
“Was he a good doctor?” Amanda asked.
“Sometimes.”
“That’s a terrible answer.”
“It’s the only one I trust.”
Amanda looked toward the knitted booties.
“And the name?”
Andrew opened his mouth, then reconsidered.
“I don’t know what you’ll want.”
“Good.” She touched one bootie. “Neither do I.”
“What do you need from me?” he asked.
“Time.”
“Okay.”
***
Much later, Andrew started gathering the remaining dishes.
As he reached for the booties, he hesitated.
“Where do you want these?”
Amanda indicated the windowsill.
“There.”
He carefully placed them where she’d directed.
One of the booties tipped onto its side.
Andrew instinctively reached to straighten it, but stopped himself.
Amanda noticed.
He withdrew his hand and sat down again.
