Nathan leaned forward, placing his hand over mine on the armrest of the chair. “We discussed this during the drive over last week, honey, it was the standard clearance for the laboratory technician.”
“I did not sign anything, Nathan,” I said, looking directly into his eyes.
“We do not need to worry about the paperwork, Evelyn, just focus on your breathing,” Nathan said, his voice smooth and steady.
He looked up at Dr. Marcus. “Can we check the baby’s heart rate now, Doctor? That is really what we are here to see.”
Dr. Marcus closed the paper folder, the heavy cardboard cover making a dry, sliding sound against the wood desk. “Of course, let us move to the examination room.”
As they stood up, my eyes lingered on the corner of the desk where a small brass key sat next to Dr. Marcus’s letter opener. I thought of our study back on Maple Street, and the locked drawer in Nathan’s oak desk that he had kept closed since our active IVF cycle began in the summer.
Nathan reached out to open the door for me, his expression perfectly calm, as if we had merely been discussing the weather.
I stared at the closed door of the billing office, my hand resting on my watch, knowing there was a locked drawer in our study that held the answers.
The house was perfectly still when Nathan finally went down to the basement to check the water heater. I slipped into the study and closed the door without letting the latch click.
The silver key was small, cold, and heavy in my palm. It slid into the lock of his oak desk drawer with a faint, grease-slicked give, turning once before the brass tumbler released.
Inside lay a single neat stack of real estate deeds and, beneath them, a cream-colored envelope from the Oak Creek Specialized Clinic.
The invoice inside was dated October fourteenth, three weeks before our last transfer attempt, and it was addressed to Diana Vance.
The total at the bottom was fourteen thousand two hundred dollars, paid in full from our joint household development fund.
