Ben had wanted this baby as badly as I had. He came to appointments, built the crib, and three months earlier had texted:
“I’m going to be ridiculous with this kid. I can’t wait to be a dad.”
Later that morning, I took a photo of Evie’s hand wrapped around my finger.
“Please look at her, Ben.”
He never replied.
“I can’t wait to be a dad.”
A few hours later, I called once.
It went straight to voicemail.
Then I called Diane.
She answered on the fourth ring.
“Diane, tell me what happened.”
“Liza, I can’t.”
It went straight to voicemail.
“You know why he looked at our daughter like that.”
Silence.
“Does Ben think I’ve done something?”
“I’m sorry, Liza.”
“Sorry for what?”
She hung up.
“Sorry for what?”
She hadn’t given me an answer, but she’d confirmed that she and Ben were hiding one.
