My Therapist Husband Erased Our Baby From My Mind

Ten days after I moved to the guest room, Roman made dinner.

Not just any dinner. The kind he used to make when we were dating. Slow-cooked short ribs. Roasted vegetables with herbs from the garden. Fresh bread from the bakery on Pike Street that opens at five in the morning. He set the table with candles and the good plates.

I came downstairs and found him waiting. White shirt. Sleeves rolled up. That smile.

"Surprise," he said.

I looked at the table. At the flowers in the center. White roses. My favorite.

"You didn't have to do this," I said.

He pulled out my chair. "I wanted to. We've been distant lately. I miss you."

I sat. He poured wine for himself. Sparkling water for me. He asked about the baby. I told him about the kicks. He reached across the table and took my hand.

"I've been thinking," he said. "About names. What do you think of Iris?"

I'd forgotten he'd said that name before. Back when I still believed everything.

"It's beautiful," I said.

We ate. He asked about my day. I asked about his patients. He told me a story about someone's breakthrough. I laughed at the right moment. We moved through the conversation like dancers who'd rehearsed the steps a thousand times.

After dinner he suggested we sit in the living room. Just talk. Reconnect.

I followed him. He turned on the lamp in the corner. Soft light. Warm. He sat beside me on the couch. Not too close.

"I know things have been hard," he said. His voice was gentle. Careful. "With the pregnancy. With everything. I want you to feel safe. Comfortable."

I nodded.

"I was thinking," he said, "maybe we could do a relaxation session. Nothing formal. Just breathing exercises. Help you sleep better."

My heart kicked once. Hard.

"I don't know," I said. "I'm pretty tired."

"It'll only take a few minutes." He smiled. "You trust me, don't you?"

I looked at his face. At the warmth in his eyes that I now knew was a performance. At the hands that had touched Talia while she was unconscious.

"Of course," I said.

He pulled out his phone. Opened an app. A metronome. The sound filled the room. Tick. Tick. Tick.

"Just close your eyes," he said. His voice dropped. Lower. Softer. That particular frequency I'd heard through his office door. "And breathe with me. In through your nose. Out through your mouth."

I closed my eyes.

"That's perfect. You're doing beautifully."

I breathed. In. Out. The metronome ticked. His voice wrapped around me like smoke.

"Let your shoulders drop. Let the tension go. You're safe here. You're always safe with me."

I felt myself slipping. The fog rolling in. My thoughts getting slower. Heavier.

"Good. Very good. Now I want you to imagine—"

The baby kicked.

Sharp. Sudden. Right under my ribs.

The fog tore open. I could see again. Think again. My eyes flew open for just a second.

Roman was leaning over me. His face wasn't warm anymore. It was focused. Clinical. The face of someone performing a procedure.

I closed my eyes again. Fast.

I made my breathing stay slow. Deep. I let my face go slack. I counted to three in my head. Then I blinked. Slow and confused. Like waking up from a nap.

Roman sat back. I could feel him watching me.

"How do you feel?" he asked.

I smiled. Soft and vague. "Good. Relaxed."

"Do you remember what we talked about?"

I tilted my head. Let confusion flicker across my face. "We were… having dinner?"

His shoulders dropped. Relief. Pure and obvious.

"That's right," he said. His voice was warm again. "And then you were so tired I suggested you rest for a minute."

"Oh." I touched my forehead. "I think I dozed off."

He laughed. Soft and affectionate. He reached out and touched my face. His fingers were warm. Gentle.

I memorized the sensation. Filed it under evidence.

"You should get some sleep," he said. "Real sleep. In a real bed."

"Maybe tomorrow," I said. "My back still hurts."

"Whatever you need, sweetheart." He kissed my forehead. "Can I make you pasta tomorrow night?"

I smiled. "I'd love that."

I went upstairs. I brushed my teeth. I changed into pajamas. I lay down in the guest room bed and stared at the ceiling.

Then I pulled out my phone. I searched for pinhole cameras. Wireless. Motion-activated. Reviews sorted by highest rated.

I added three to my cart.

I checked out with overnight shipping.

Then I pressed my hands over my stomach and felt my baby move. Alive. Awake. The thing that saved me.

"Thank you," I whispered.

Downstairs, I heard Roman moving through the house. Turning off lights. Locking doors. Going through his nightly routine like everything was fine.

I closed my eyes and started planning.