Kenneth’s gaze stayed on her. “We should speak somewhere private.”
“No,” Connor said quickly. “You don’t get to walk in here and make some scene.”
A bitter laugh nearly rose in my throat. Connor, who had just announced my infertility to strangers in a hospital corridor, was suddenly concerned about scenes.
But I did not laugh.
I looked at the baby.
He had settled now, soothed by the nurse who had bent down to smile at him. His cheeks were wet, his small fingers still clutching the giraffe’s neck. He was beautiful in the effortless, innocent way babies are beautiful. Entirely separate from the adults around him. Entirely undeserving of the tension collecting in the air.
“Kenneth,” I said, lowering my voice, “what is going on?”
He hesitated.
