The room went quiet when I placed the ultrasound photo on the coffee table. My husband, Aleric, looked at it, then at me, while his mother stood beside the bassinet holding the three-month-old baby he had brought into our Greenwich home only days earlier.

caught a glimpse of a message on Aleric’s phone from someone saved simply as “Cousin.”

Aleric, I’m pregnant.

I confronted him immediately.

He laughed.

“She sent it to the wrong person.”

“What?”

“It was meant for her husband.”

He even called Rowan on speakerphone in front of me.

She apologized repeatedly.

“I’m so embarrassed, Saraphina. I clicked the wrong contact. I swear.”

I had believed both of them.

Now I stood in our closet holding her prenatal file.

The examination had taken place the previous September.

Thirty-six weeks.

I opened