His hand went still.
“Three months?”
Olivia nodded.
For three months, Ethan had been leaving home before sunrise and returning after dark.
For three months, he had accepted his mother’s smiling reports that everyone was “helping Olivia.”
For three months, when he found the counters polished and laundry folded, he assumed his sisters were finally learning responsibility.
He had even thanked them.
The memory made shame burn behind his eyes.
Their son kicked suddenly.
Olivia winced.
Ethan looked up.
“You’re hurting.”
“I’m fine.”
“Please don’t lie to protect me.”
Something in her face broke.
Not dramatically.
It simply collapsed.
Her shoulders dropped.
Her mouth opened, but the first sound was a breath.
Then she covered her face.
“I just wanted them to love me.”
The words came through her fingers.
“I tried so hard, Ethan. I thought if I did enough, your mom would stop saying you had changed because of me. I thought Vanessa would stop calling me spoiled. I thought Courtney would stop saying I trapped you with a baby.”
Ethan’s chest tightened.
“Courtney said that?”
Olivia started crying harder.
“And Madison keeps joking that once the baby comes, I’ll finally have something useful to do.”
Ethan stood and pulled her against him as carefully as he could.
Her forehead rested beneath his chin.
She felt too light.
Too fragile.
He remembered the woman he had married beneath oak trees outside Fort Worth, barefoot after midnight because she had kicked off her wedding shoes.
This woman had once pulled him into a fountain while still wearing her reception dress.
This woman had not been fragile.
Someone had taught her to become small inside her own home.
And he had paid the mortgage while it happened.
“I’m sorry,” he whispered.
Olivia shook her head against his chest.
“No. You work so hard.”
“That’s not an excuse.”
“You didn’t know.”
“I should have.”
He guided her upstairs.
Every few steps, she paused to breathe.
By the time they reached the bedroom, Ethan’s fear had replaced his anger.
He arranged pillows behind her.
Brought water.
Then called her obstetrician’s after-hours number.
Dr. Elaine Morris returned the call twelve minutes later.
Ethan described the swelling in Olivia’s feet.
The dizziness.
The back pain.
The hours on her feet.
The exhaustion.
The crying.
There was a pause at the other end.
Then the doctor’s tone became firm.
“She needs rest immediately.”
Ethan sat straighter.
“What kind of rest?”
“No unnecessary standing. No heavy housework. Keep her hydrated. Monitor the swelling. And if she has persistent pain, visual changes, bleeding, regular contractions, severe headache, or reduced fetal movement, you go directly to labor and delivery.”
Olivia watched him from the bed.
Her face had gone pale.
Dr. Morris continued.
“At this stage, prolonged physical strain and significant emotional stress are not things I want her pushing through.”
Ethan’s throat tightened.
“Could this hurt the baby?”
“I’m not going to diagnose a crisis over the phone. But I am telling you very clearly: she needs to stop overexerting herself.”
After Ethan ended the call, Olivia reached for his wrist.
“Please.”
He looked at her.
“Please don’t fight with them because of me.”
That sentence nearly undid him.
“Because of you?”
“They’ll say I caused it.”
Ethan stared at his wife.
Then he understood.
This was not just about dishes.
She was afraid of consequences.
Not from strangers.
From people sleeping ten yards away.
Tears filled his eyes.
He leaned over and kissed her forehead.
“I should have protected you a long time ago.”
Then he walked downstairs.
The television was still blasting.
Madison laughed.
Courtney was talking about a package.
Vanessa had opened another shopping site.
Diane did not even look up.
Ethan crossed the room.
Reached behind the entertainment unit.
And ripped the television cord from the wall.
