Two days before my wife told me she was seven weeks pregnant, a fertility doctor in Dayton told me that fathering a child naturally was about as close to impossible as medicine would let her say.
Chapter 2
Dad’s attorney, Gary Holt, had written my prenup.
He was in his sixties, wore suspenders, and had known me since I was a kid.
He watched half the kitchen footage and stopped the video.
Then he opened my prenup.
“Clause nine.”
Infidelity.
If either spouse cheated, each left the marriage with what they’d brought into it.
The house was mine before Becca.
So were my investments.
Gary told me to file quietly.
Keep paying normal bills.
Don’t hide assets.
Don’t confront anybody.
Dad had other plans.
He asked the company controller, Kim, to audit Mom’s community-relations budget.
Nine days later, she walked into his office with a folder.
Mom had been paying Colton $2,500 a month through fake event sponsorships.
She’d covered credit cards.
The Buckeye Lake cabin.
Other personal expenses.
More than $61,000 in company money.
Dad didn’t yell.
He called HR.
Prepared Colton’s termination.
Prepared an eviction notice for the company condo.
Then he called Gary.
“Start mine too.”
Gary looked up.
“Your divorce?”
Dad nodded.
Thirty-four years of marriage.
Done in one sentence.
Meanwhile, Mom was planning the baby shower.
Early.
Fourteen weeks.
Sixty guests.
Church friends, relatives, dealership managers, Becca’s parents and coworkers.
A three-tier cake.
WELCOME BABY WELLS.
Mom asked me to set up the big television for a slideshow called Nolan and Becca’s Journey to Baby.
I said sure.
For five weeks, I performed the strangest role of my life.
I came home Friday evenings.
I rubbed Becca’s feet.
I went to the ultrasound.
I watched a tiny shape move on a screen and felt something inside me split.
The baby had done nothing wrong.
That mattered.
Even when everything else became ugly, that mattered.
One night, Becca lay beside me in bed.
“Can we cancel the shower?”
“Why?”
“It’s too early.”
“You know Mom.”
“I don’t want everybody staring at me.”
I turned toward her.
She looked frightened.
“Are you okay?”
“Yeah.”
“You sure?”
She nodded.
Then, quietly, “Do you still love me?”
That was the cruelest question she asked.
Because I did.
Love doesn’t always disappear when someone betrays you.
Sometimes it stays behind after trust is gone and makes everything harder.
“Of course,” I said.
The next morning she called Mom and asked to postpone.
I heard Mom’s voice through the phone.
“The invitations are out. Stop being dramatic. You’ll be there and you’ll smile.”
Becca hung up.
She sat at the kitchen table staring at nothing.
For one weak second, I almost told her I knew.
Then I remembered my mother’s laughter on the recording.
I went to work.
The Thursday before the shower, Dad told Mom he wanted to say a few words afterward.
She was thrilled.
“Look at you getting sentimental.”
Dad smiled.
He was a better actor than I was.
Monday, Gary filed my divorce petition.
The papers went into a manila envelope.
Beside them I put the prenup and my fertility results.
Then I edited a four-minute video.
No bedroom footage.
No intimate images.
I didn’t need them.
I used the GPS maps, driveway camera, and kitchen conversations.
Mom had designed the shower around public pressure. Her plan depended on sixty witnesses seeing me commit emotionally to a lie.
I decided the witnesses could stay.
Saturday afternoon, I walked into my parents’ house holding Becca’s hand.
Blue and pink balloons filled the living room.
Mom wore white.
She hugged me.
“Today is all about you.”
I nearly admired the nerve.
Becca’s father, Ray, shook my hand.
“Proud of you, son.”
That hurt.
Her mother, Pam, kissed my cheek.
Neither of them knew.
Neither deserved what was coming.
A man carrying a gift bag entered with the other guests.
Process server.
He stood near the hallway.
Colton arrived late carrying a five-foot teddy bear.
People applauded.
He hugged Becca too long.
Then slapped my shoulder.
“You ready to be a dad, big brother?”
I looked at him.
“I’ve never been more ready for anything.”
That part was true.
We played games.
People guessed baby food.
Mom measured Becca’s belly with ribbon.
Then she took the microphone.
She talked about family.
Legacy.
The Wells name.
“This baby will grow up surrounded by people who love it.”
People applauded.
Colton took the microphone next.
“To Nolan, who’s gonna be the best dad in the world.”
He smiled at me.
“And me, the coolest uncle in Ohio.”
His friends laughed.
Mom clapped.
Then she announced the slideshow.
Becca leaned against my shoulder.
Family photographs filled the screen.
Our wedding.
Christmas.
Vacations.
The Ohio State onesie.
People sighed and smiled.
Then the screen went black.
White letters appeared.
Wednesday, May 1. 1:34 p.m.
My parents’ driveway appeared.
Colton’s Telluride.
Then Becca’s Explorer.
Then Mom opening the door and hugging them.
Becca stopped breathing beside me.
The GPS map appeared.
Tuesday nights.
Thursday nights.
Buckeye Lake.
Maple Ridge Drive.
Then the kitchen.
Mom’s voice filled her living room.
“No, honey. It’s Nolan’s. Do you understand me?”
Nobody moved.
“That baby gets the Wells name and Grant’s money behind it.”
Somebody dropped a glass.
Then Colton appeared onscreen.
“Nolan’s gonna be a great dad to my kid.”
Finally Mom’s voice again.
“Once sixty people have watched him cry over that baby, he’ll never leave.”
The screen went black.
Sixty people sat in silence.
