“Love, I’m going to check on Claire and the baby.”
“You just saw her two days ago,” I said.
He laughed lightly, the kind of laugh people use when something sounds slightly ridiculous. Then he was out the door before I could even step away from the stove to follow him.
And it kept happening.
One time I grabbed my coat and said, “Wait, I’ll come with you.”
Ethan paused in the doorway. “You don’t have to.”
That hurt.
Sometimes he returned with little updates.
“She’s craving oranges.”
“Her back is bothering her.”
“The baby kicked today.”
Those details were meant to include me, but instead they made me feel like someone reading postcards from a vacation they hadn’t been invited on.
Then there were the folders.
Ethan had always liked being organized, but this was different. He saved receipts, doctor’s notes, printed ultrasound photos. Everything was sorted and labeled carefully.
“Why are you saving all of that?” I asked one night.
He shrugged. “Just being organized.”
I nodded, but something about it felt excessive.
Eventually, one evening, I said what had been on my mind for weeks.
“Ethan. Don’t you think you’re visiting Claire a little too much?”
He blinked. “What are you implying?”
“I’m not implying anything. It just feels… strange.”
He laughed. “Sweetheart, she’s carrying our baby. I just want her to have a smooth pregnancy.”
I nodded. I smiled. I dropped the subject.
But the uneasy feeling never left me—the sense that my husband was spending too much private time with our surrogate.
The next day I did something completely out of character.
Right before Ethan left to visit Claire, I slipped a small voice recorder into the inside pocket of his jacket.
My hands trembled as I did it.
I stood in the hallway holding the jacket and thought, Why am I even doing this?
For a moment I nearly removed it.
But the knot in my stomach was louder than the guilt, so I left it where it was.
That evening Ethan returned from Claire’s place and hung his jacket up like he always did. He kissed me goodnight and went to bed.
I waited until the house fell completely quiet.
Then I took the recorder from his jacket pocket, went into the bathroom, locked the door, and sat down on the cold tile floor.
I pressed play.
At first there was only the sound of a door opening, followed by Claire’s warm, familiar voice.
“Oh, good, you made it.”
Then Ethan spoke.
“I brought the vitamins you wanted.”
