My daughter was gaunt and sallow, her tiny brow furrowed even in sleep.
The other child was plump and rosy, visibly healthier in every way.
The bitterness spilled out before I could stop it.
"You really do play the devoted husband for Tracey and her son."
"Too bad a mistress will always be a mistress, and a bastard will always be a bastard."
That hit a nerve.
"Do you have to be so vile? What do you mean, bastard?"
"If you'd been able to conceive, do you think I would've gone to her for a child?"
My eyes went wide.
"What are you saying..."
He lifted his head and stared straight into my eyes.
"I'm telling you, Douglas is not a bastard, and he will never be called illegitimate."
"What can a girl accomplish? The Gilbert family name, the legacy, the empire — all of it needs a son."
The room fell silent. I stared at him, unable to process what I'd just heard.
He frowned, impatient.
"If Douglas hadn't gotten sick, if the bone marrow match hadn't led back to her, do you think you would've ever found out?"
"Just think of it as your daughter doing a good deed. Building up karma. Once she's discharged, we go back to normal. We move on."
The sheer absurdity of it pulled a cold laugh from my throat.