Truth

about the paternity, she recognized it didn’t matter. It did. But it wouldn’t affect her feelings for this child. He or she was hers. The rest would work itself out, or it wouldn’t. Keeping this baby safe and healthy was now her number one concern.
    Dr. Sizemore entered the small room with her laptop in her hand. “Ms. Nichols, congratulations! You are definitely pregnant.”
    Claire’s smile radiated to her emerald eyes. It wasn’t planned. Potentially she was in the middle of a dangerous mine field. Her entire world could explode with one single misstep. None of it mattered. Her world and the treacherous terrain she navigated were suddenly and forever inconsequential. In her figurative game of chess, attacking her opponent was no longer as important as reinforcing and protecting her pieces, especially her one new piece. Claire would forever have someone else to consider.
    After some discussion, Dr. Sizemore directed an ultrasound wand and spoke reassuringly, “The external ultrasound works well later in pregnancy. This early we need to use what is called trans-vaginal.”
    Claire forgot the uncomfortable sensation as she watched the screen before her go in and out of focus. When the doctor finally stilled the picture, all Claire could see was white static, with a dark oval and something white, shaped like a peanut. Dr. Sizemore explained, “This is your baby.”
    A grid appeared, superimposed on the peanut as Dr. Sizemore took measurements.
    “ Is everything all right?” Claire asked.
    “ Yes, everything looks perfect. Do you see this small movement?” A white arrow appeared on the screen and pointed to a dark pulsating spot within the peanut. The sound of swishing filled the small room.
    Claire nodded.
    “ That’s your baby’s heart beating.” The sound reminded Claire of the calming swoosh of waves on the shore of her lake in Iowa. Dr. Sizemore continued, “The heartbeat isn’t detectable until six weeks Estimated Gestational Age. According to my measurements, Ms. Nichols, you are seven weeks pregnant, give or take a day.”
    Claire laid her head on the soft pillow of the exam table. Upon the ceiling there was a picture of three adorable babies, all smiling down at Claire. Her eyes filled with tears as she closed out the world and considered her feelings. If the baby were Harry’s it’d be so much easier. Or would it? Is easy what Claire desired? Tony claimed to still love her. Harry never said he loved her. But then again, could she trust Tony after all he’d done? She needed answers. She needed to know more about the man she’d once married, the man whose baby she now carried.
    The doctor pushed a button and printed copies of the ultrasound screen. Instinctively Claire knew who she wanted to see these pictures. With a new determination, Claire realized she couldn’t wait to be in Iowa and talk with the woman who’d supported her and could hopefully answer her questions. Claire couldn’t wait to talk with Catherine.
     
     

 
     
     
    There is sacredness in tears. They are not the mark of weakness
but of power. They are messengers of overwhelming grief
and of unspeakable love. -- Washington Irving
     
    Chapter 42
     
    The BMW stopped momentarily at the front entrance as the large iron gates opened. It had been seventeen months since Claire had been on Tony’s property. The last time she watched these gates open was that fateful day in January of 2012, the day she drove away. Her heart rate quickened as the car navigated the winding drive. Being early June, the lush vegetation allowed only the occasional ray of sunshine to break through the canopy of leaves, creating a strobe effect as they neared their destination. When the trees cleared and the vista opened, the house before her took Claire’s breath away. She remembered its grandeur. However, with time, memories fade. The stately reality flourished in its full glory. Had this mansion really been her home ? The combination of brick, riverstone, and limestone stood a paragon of Tony’s affluence. Or perhaps, Claire wondered, was it a monument to Nathaniel Rawls, Tony’s grandfather? After all, it did resemble the picture of Tony’s childhood home.
    Claire struggled to contain her increasing anxiety while Eric pulled the car onto the brickyard in front of the steps. He had met her at the airport and chauffeured her to the mansion. Although she was still unhappy with Eric’s physical persuasion last week in San Francisco, his