The next gift was a baby monitor. The irony was a bitter pill. I kept smiling, kept unwrapping, kept performing joy while my engagement ring felt like it was cutting off the circulation to my finger. The babies—both of them—kicked, a hard, simultaneous thump, as if they could sense the tension radiating through my skin.

Babies, plural. A secret I was still holding, a piece of our future Marcus didn’t even know existed.