“Oh, Mina,” she said, her voice low and subdued. “I don’t know what I’m saying. I’m sorry, I really am. The truth is, I don’t know what the best thing to say right now is. I don’t know the best way to help you because, quite honestly, I still can’t really wrap my head around what you’re telling me, and what all this means. I want to take you at your word as my patient, but . . . we both know that you’re an unusual case. One of a kind. I don’t exactly have a lot of experience with handling this kind of . . . situation.” She paused, her hands flying to her face, covering her cheeks, which were now as red as mine felt. “I shouldn’t even be saying any of this out loud. But you know what? Doctors are humans, too. And I want to be understanding and supportive for you. I want to know what you’re really going through every step of the way.”

“I get that, really I do,” I said. “I’m sure they don’t teach divine intervention as part of the reproductive unit in med school. You’re not trained to deal with someone like me. And honestly, I can’t expect you to believe me. I mean, my own dad thinks I’m a liar, and he’s my dad. All I want is to not have to defend myself every time I come here to see you. Because now that everyone in Green Hill knows what’s going on, I spend way too much of my time defending myself. I don’t need that here, too. I look forward to this, you know, hearing the heartbeat, knowing everything is normal and healthy and happening like it should. It’s when everything feels most real. Most special. So please, can we agree to that?”

She looked at me, her eyes red-rimmed and watery beneath her pink plastic eyeglass frames. I could practically see straight through them to the struggle happening beneath. Was it more important to get to the bottom of what could have happened, to some dark, repressed sexual memory? Or to stand by me? Focus on me and the baby, the future—not the past?

Dr. Keller nodded, coming to her decision. “Absolutely, Mina. I want you to feel safe here. I want you to be able to say what you’re really thinking and feeling. You know that everything is completely confidential.”

I nodded, and I could feel my own tears pricking at the corner of my eyes. “Thank you. That means a lot to me.”

“Of course.” She reached out to me, her hand grasping mine as our fingers briefly interlaced. “So I’ll see you in another four weeks, Mina, but please know that you can call whenever you have any questions. I’m here. I’m always here.”

• • •

I could see the mystery green car sitting in our driveway from a quarter mile down the road.

“Mom? Who is that at our house?” I asked, turning to get a clear view of her expression. She bit her lip and looked out the driver’s side window, avoiding my eyes.

“I think it’s . . .” She trailed off, ticked her fingers against the wheel. “Well . . . Mina, your father mentioned something this morning about maybe having Pastor Lewis stop by. You’ve had such a long few weeks at school, and you had your appointment today, and I just . . . I don’t know, I didn’t want to add to everything else. I figured he’d probably even change his mind, or that the pastor would already have plans.”

“And why would he have Pastor Lewis come to our house?” I asked, a burst of anger pouring through me so red-hot that my hands were already shaking as I balled them into fists. Pastor Lewis had tried calling me a few times, had left a few polite messages to check in, but I had never followed up with him. I was too scared to hear what he might have to say. “Does Dad think the pastor will talk sense into me? Make me confess or something?” And, silly me, here I’d thought my dad and I had been slowly working our way to an understanding. Clearly, I’d been mistaken. He was just trying to soften me, maybe. Knock down my defenses until I was ready to finally tell the truth.

But I’d already told him the truth. I’d told all of them the truth. He just didn’t want to hear it.

“No!” I yelled, my voice so unexpectedly loud and high-pitched that my mom jumped, banging her shoulder against the window. “No,” I said, steadier this time. “I have nothing to say to Pastor Lewis, Mom. I’m not defending myself.”

“You don’t have to defend yourself, Mina. He’s not going to interrogate you. You know Pastor L. He might be able to help you make more sense of all this. Maybe he’ll give you more perspective.”

I snorted. “Perspective, huh? So you agree with Dad on this one?”

“Mina, I know this may be hard for you to believe, given how strained things have been around the house. But your dad still wants what’s best for you. He cares about you, and he’s worried. He’s incredibly worried, Mina, about how stressful all this has been for you.”

“Well, if he’s been so worried this whole time, why hasn’t he just talked to me about it? Asked me how I’m doing? I can count on one hand the number of times he’s said a word to me in the past few months.”

She sighed, finally turning to look at me as she parked the car and turned off the ignition. “I don’t know, Mina. He has a different way of dealing with things. I know it’s not the best way, but we can’t force him into this, sweetie. He needs to find his own path back to you. He loves you. You have to remember that.”

“Loving someone means having faith in them. Trusting them. Supporting them. Last I’d checked, he’s failed to do much of that over the last few months.”

“Please just give this a chance, Mina. Talk to him and Pastor Lewis. Just for a few minutes at least. For me.”

I could hear the tremor in her voice, the needy, pleading undertone, and I wanted to give her some kind of relief, some kind of hope that things would get better. I knew that this wasn’t easy for her, either, her husband and her daughter barely speaking.

“Fine. A few minutes.” I clenched my sweaty hands as I got out of the car, kicking the door shut behind me. As soon as I stepped into the cool damp of our foyer, I could hear voices from the kitchen, Gracie and Dad with Pastor Lewis. They were all laughing, joking about something I couldn’t quite make out. The sound of it hit me like a kick to the stomach. How could my dad sound so happy? Why wasn’t he as torn up as I was?

Their laughter stopped as soon as they heard my footsteps in the hall. Gracie ran to me, wrapping her little spindly arms around my waist and burrowing her head into my side.

“Hi, Pastor Lewis. Hi, Dad,” I said, nodding toward both of them. “You wanted to talk to me?”

“Yes, Mina, I think that a family talk with Pastor Lewis would be a good thing for all of us,” my dad said, his gaze fixed somewhere on the yellow-checked wall behind me.

“Well, you know, Dad, I have been here since August, living in the same house as you. You haven’t seemed all that interested in talking to me.” I bit down on my lip to stop myself. I would be mature about this, at least in front of Pastor L.

“Let’s go sit in the living room,” I continued, starting for the hallway before either of them could respond. I was suddenly feeling exhausted and every bit of twenty-two weeks pregnant. I pressed my hands against my back as I walked, rubbing out the dull, persistent ache. My baby was now roughly the size of a papaya, or (finally!) a much more appealing description—a small doll, coming in at a whopping one pound, eight or so inches long. A doll that was developing senses, a doll that was beginning to touch, see, hear, taste.

I settled onto the sofa with a pillow behind me, propping my feet up on the coffee table. Pastor Lewis and my dad sat on the love seat directly across from me, while Gracie and my mom hovered for a minute before deciding to join me on the couch.

I had known Pastor L for my entire life, and I’d never seen him look nearly as uncomfortable as he did right then. He was always so calm and composed, as if he had all the secrets of the world just waiting for you behind his bright twinkling eyes. But he looked very uncertain and very out of place in our living room, picking at the white clerical collar around his neck like it had suddenly become a few sizes too small. I had always loved Pastor L—he was a warm, big-hearted teddy bear of a man who had a hug and a kind word for every person who walked through the church doors. But as I sat there watching him fidget and perspire, thinking about the role he’d played in my life, I realized that a big part of why I had loved him so easily was because he made religion feel simple. He didn’t push envelopes, he didn’t ask hard questions. He had never made me face my doubts, had never made me even consider that I had any doubts at all.