⸻
Renata’s face had gone pale, her eyes moving rapidly between me, Milo, and the boy sitting against the wall.
“Naomi,” she said, “I think we need to talk somewhere private.”
⸻
“I think you need to explain to me right now,” I said, “why my son’s dead twin brother is sitting in this office.”
⸻
The principal, understanding immediately that this conversation had moved considerably beyond his own jurisdiction, quietly excused himself, promising to give us the room.
⸻
Renata sat down heavily in one of the office chairs, her composure cracking in a way I’d never once seen from her during the calm, professional days after my delivery eight years earlier.
⸻
“Foster and I were involved,” she said quietly. “Before your delivery. It started about four months into your pregnancy.”
⸻
I felt something in my chest go completely hollow. “You were sleeping with my husband while you were my nurse.”
⸻
“I know how that sounds,” Renata said. “I’m not asking you to forgive it. I need you to understand what happened during your delivery, because I don’t think you fully do yet.”
