Page 34 of It Must Be Fate

He sets his mug and paper down and looks at me, his gaze intense.

I wish he was closer. We’re sitting at the smaller of our dining tables, but it still feels like an ocean separates us.

Not for the first time since we’ve been together, I wonder if we’re telepathically connected, because no sooner do I have that thought does he get up and come to stand next to me, his hand finding the back of my neck in a possessive and comforting gesture.

“Tell me.”

He coaxes the words from me with his gentle tone, his fingers caressing the sensitive skin at my nape.

A smile blooms across my face and I meet his gaze. “I’m pregnant.”

Rogue’s hand stills on my neck. Weirdly, I feel it tighten, as if inexplicable tension stiffens every muscle and joint in his palm and fingers.

His expression, which had been so open and adoring on me seconds before, shutters, his features turning impassive. It’s as if a stranger takes over my husband’s body as he wraps himself in aloofness, his gaze a million miles away.

I’m familiar with this version of Rogue, with this chosen defense mechanism of his. I’m just surprised to see him pull on it now. Not only because he hasn’t reacted this way in years, but because I’ve just given him good news.

Right?

“Oh, that’s great,” he says, bending down to kiss me. “I’m really happy.”

I’m frozen in shock.

My body is wooden as his response lands. His smile is genuine, as are his words, but they lack depth and feeling. There’s a reservedness that I don’t understand. His eyes are haunted and won’t meet mine. I dip my head to search for his gaze, but he looks away.

“Rogue—”

“I, uh,” he starts, interrupting me. “I forgot I have an errand to run. I’ll be back.”

He kisses the top of my head.

“Rogue, wait—”

But he’s already gone, walking from the kitchen and out of our house without a backwards glance.

I stare helplessly at the door, completely at a loss as to what just happened.

I didn’t see it going this way. At all. I thought the timing was perfect, with me having just finished school. I thought he was going to be thrilled.

He’s the one who’s been talking about having kids for over a year now. His reaction makes no sense to me and frankly, it scares me. I don’t want to have a baby if he doesn’t want it as much as me, if he’s not in this as wholeheartedly as I am.

There’s a bothersome throbbing at my temples that announces an oncoming headache. It’s probably from holding in the tears that demand to be set free. But I won’t cry, I won’t let myself freak out until we’ve actually spoken. Maybe this is how all men react to pregnancy news?

I’m not sure, but I can be patient. I always have been with him. My friends like to joke that I built him with my bare hands.

It’s not Rogue’s fault.

He was never taught how to feel and process his emotions, only how to suppress them or project them onto others via explosive anger.

But that was before.

He’s changed over the past six years.

***

The longer he’s gone, the more the initial worry turns into concern, which morphs into fear, which grows into alarm and agitation.

When I can’t take one more second of this torture, I group call the girls.

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