Page 14 of Thin Lives

Affonso didn’t give her a choice. She was rarely allowed out of his sight when he was home, and when he wasn’t, she couldn’t leave unless it was something for the baby.

“Cynthia called last night,” Affonso said.

“Oh?” Emma wondered why her husband would bother to bring up a phone call about her step-daughter when he usually never did. “About what?”

“She wanted to know if you were going to have a baby shower, or something of that nature.”

Emma shrugged, never looking up from her book. At the same time, an idea flew into her head, giving her a bit of relief. “Not before—I might have to stay in the hospital for a couple of months leading up to the birth. I would hate to have people make plans and then be forced to cancel them last minute. It wouldn’t be fair.”

“You’re not going into the hospital yet,” Affonso said.

“We don’t really know when it will happen,” Emma reminded him. “It could be tomorrow—it might be another month. It’s hard to say, as there have been no changes. But we both know the last time my cervix opened prematurely, it happened very quickly, and we didn’t have much warning.”

Affonso scowled. Each and every time her premature delivery was brought up in some way to him, he either treated it with scorn and disdain, or outright ignored it. Over the last few months, Emma had gotten better at not letting her husband’s lack of empathy and his horrible attitude toward her loss roll off her shoulders.

She couldn't change who Affonso was.

Why bother to try?

“True enough. What is your point?” Affonso asked.

“My point, Affonso, is exactly what I already said. I don’t want to have people make plans, only for them to be canceled. Why not do a meet-and-greet after the baby is born, before he’s been Christened, and all of that? Have a dinner and a party to show him off, and allow people to say hello. That sort of thing.”

Affonso leaned back in his chair, folding his arms over his chest. “How soon after my boy is born?”

Emma barely held back her flinch at his casual use of “my boy” like the son she carried actually belonged to him, when he knew damn well the baby was Calisto’s. The sudden flood of anger rushing through her bloodstream heated her up, but she pushed it back down.

Getting into some spat with Affonso would do her no good. That’s exactly what he probably wanted. Just one single reason to end her life, and her child’s.

Even if he did want the baby.

“As soon as you would like,” Emma forced herself to say sweetly, and with a fake smile.

It damn near killed her to give him those things—her politeness and smiles, and to put his wants and needs above her own. She despised this man with every single fiber of her being. She had hated him from the moment she met him, and it had only grown worse over time.

The very thought of allowing people into her home soon after the birth of her son to fawn over him and his pseudo-father sickened her to her very core; to have those people congratulate Affonso like he created the baby’s life and deserved the praise for it tore her soul apart.

But her baby …

Calisto’s baby needed to live.

She needed to live.

No matter how dire things seemed the longer she waited for Calisto to start remembering, or even for him to begin putting the pieces left behind back together, she wouldn’t give up hope.

They weren’t hopeless.

Not yet.

“I’ll want him Christened soon after, before two weeks,” Affonso said, more to himself than to her. “Ray would make a good godfather for him, don’t you think?”

Emma’s head snapped up at that statement.

No.

Absolutely not.

She might as well have been screaming it.