My mind replayed his words over and over, trying to confirm that I’d actually heard what I thought I did. I had.
And Jonah was still grinning.
“You know,” he went on, like we were all supposed to be in on the joke, “it’s kind of wild, right? We were together for years—no pregnancy—and then, boom! One surprise baby!”
No one laughed. Not even nervously.
I stared at him. He thought he was being funny, maybe even endearing, as if this were some charming “look how far we’ve come” story. But all I heard was accusation. It echoed louder than the clink of cutlery or the faint voices drifting in from the neighbors’ yard.
“You think I baby-trapped you?” I finally asked, my voice low and steady.
“I don’t think that, obviously,” he said, shrugging, his confidence faltering a little. “I’m just saying it’s… kind of funny how it happened.”
“Funny,” I repeated slowly. The word felt bitter in my mouth. My eyes burned, but I told myself I wouldn’t cry—not here, not in front of Sylvia, not after everything we’d built.
“Mom?” Noah piped up, still oblivious. “Can I have more stuffing with the sausage?”
