David caught my eye and gave me a reassuring smile, his presence a balm to my frayed nerves. “Everything okay?” he asked softly, careful not to disturb the baby.
“Yeah,” I nodded, forcing a smile. I chose not to mention the text message just yet. The thought of unraveling whatever web lay hidden in the past was too overwhelming at this moment, when I was supposed to be rejoicing in the new life we had brought into the world.
But as the hours ticked by, the unease settled in my chest, refusing to be ignored. I had to confront this shadow from the past. I needed to know what connection lay between my ex-husband and the man I had chosen to spend my life with. My mind raced with questions that needed answers.
Once David had settled into the chair beside my hospital bed, his gaze softening with each gentle rise and fall of our son’s chest, I took a deep breath. “David,” I started cautiously, “how do you know Michael?”
He looked up, his eyes meeting mine with a steady calmness. There was a moment of silence, and in that pause, I felt the weight of possible truths hanging in the air between us.
“We were… acquaintances a long time ago,” David admitted, his voice measured. There was a complexity in his gaze, a flicker of something unspoken.
“Why did he react like that?” I pressed, my voice barely above a whisper.
David sighed, running a hand through his hair. “It’s complicated, Rachel. There are things from my past I haven’t shared because I didn’t want to burden you. But I promise, I will tell you everything. Just not here, not now.”
His words were both a promise and a plea, a request for time. I nodded, knowing that the conversation would come, that the truth would unfold in its own time.
As I lay back, closing my eyes, I felt the exhaustion of the day pulling me under. Yet, amidst the uncertainty, there was a strange sense of calm. Whatever the truth was, I trusted that we would face it together. After all, the life we had created was a testament to new beginnings, a reminder that some stories were just starting to be written.