Paige watched my face, her car keys jingling softly in her hand.

“What detail?” I asked her.

“The emergency intake ultrasound was done six minutes ago,” Nurse Foster said gently.

“The fetal heartbeat is stable, but Mrs.

Moretti is sixteen weeks pregnant.”

Sixteen weeks.

That was four months.

Sixteen weeks ago Hannah had been sitting across from me in our dining room, talking softly about her archive work while I cleared the coffee cups off the table, weeks before I shoved her out of my life with a coldness I’d made up.