"She's Just a Child!"

The babysitter, still hovering near the doorway, shifted uncomfortably, clearly wishing she’d chosen a different moment to bring Sophie in to say goodnight. But it was too late to undo what had already unfolded, too late to gather the words back into the silence they’d broken.

Vanessa’s composure finally snapped entirely. She rose halfway from her chair, her voice sharp and defensive, cutting across the tension of the dining room like a blade. “She’s just a child! You’re going to take the word of a five-year-old over your own wife?”

The shout landed strangely in the elegant dining room, too loud, too aggressive for the situation as she’d tried to frame it — an overreaction that seemed to confirm, more than any calm denial could have, exactly how much truth lived beneath Sophie’s innocent observation.

Thomas didn’t answer immediately. He simply looked at his wife for a long moment, taking in the flush creeping up her neck, the tightness around her eyes, the way her hand had drifted back to her stomach — not in the soft, protective gesture of the last five months, but in something closer to a nervous, self-conscious adjustment.

“I haven’t accused you of anything, Vanessa,” he said finally, his voice deceptively calm. “I asked a question. And you’re the one who’s decided shouting is the answer.”

Sophie, watching the adults around her with wide, uncertain eyes now, seemed to sense for the first time that her simple observation had unlocked something much larger than she’d intended. She reached instinctively for her father’s sleeve, seeking reassurance in a room that had suddenly turned unfamiliar and tense.