The air in the foyer turned to glass. April felt Robin’s hand return to her stomach, but the grip was different—no longer possessive, but searching, as if trying to feel the truth through silk and skin.

Paula’s calm gaze was a scalpel, dissecting Robin’s panic. She stood just inside the door, her hands folded neatly at her waist, her expression one of detached, professional curiosity. Her eyes moved from April’s flushed face, down to Robin’s pale hand splayed over the slight curve beneath April’s dress, and back up to meet his stare.

“Paternity,” Robin repeated, the word a dry rasp. His fingers twitched against April.

“It’s a standard clause in the settlement,” Paula said, her voice even, conversational. “Any offspring conceived during the marriage, or within a medically plausible timeframe following its dissolution, must be disclosed. For asset allocation. You signed it.”

April’s breath hitched. The ghost of his touch inside her—the wet, aching fullness from moments ago—collided with the cold future taking shape in Paula’s eyes. Her body was no longer just hers. It was evidence.

“She’s pregnant,” Robin said. It wasn’t a confession. It was a statement to the room, as if hearing it aloud would make it make sense.

“I can see that,” Paula replied. Her gaze softened, just for a fraction, as it landed on April. “I’m sorry you’re in the middle of this.”

The apology, so genuine and quiet, was worse than any accusation. April felt the heat of humiliation crawl up her neck. She was standing here, her panties damp and twisted, her dress wrinkled from being shoved up her hips, being apologized to by the woman whose life she’d helped unravel.

“It’s not yours,” Robin blurted out, his hand finally dropping from April’s stomach. He took a half-step forward, putting himself between the two women. “The baby. It’s not… It’s not from during. We met after.”

Paula’s eyebrow lifted a millimeter. “Medically plausible timeframe, Robin. You know what that means. The court will order a test. They have to.”

“So order it,” he snapped, the performer’s charm gone, stripped raw. “It’ll prove it. Then this is none of your business.”

“It becomes my business if it affects my settlement,” she said, and now the ice was there, the finality he remembered. “If this child is yours, and was conceived before our dissolution was final, a portion of your future earnings allocated for that child could be considered marital property. My property. I’m not here to fight you. I’m here to get the facts so my lawyer can adjust the paperwork.”

April listened, the legal terms settling over her like a fine, cold dust. Marital property. Asset allocation. Her child, a line item in a spreadsheet.

She looked at Robin’s back. The tailored shirt was still untucked from where she’d clutched at it. She could see the tension in his shoulders, the defensiveness that was just fear in a suit.

“You should go,” April heard herself say. Her voice was quiet, but it cut through the menacing quiet.

Both of them turned to look at her.

“This is between you two,” she continued, her hands smoothing down the front of her dress, a futile attempt at dignity. “You don’t need an audience.”

“April—” Robin started, turning fully toward her, his face a mask of confused betrayal.

“No,” she said, and the word was firmer. She looked past him, directly at Paula. “He’ll give you whatever information you need. But not here. Not like this.”

Paula studied her for a long moment. She gave a single, slow nod. “You’re right. This is inappropriate.” She looked back at Robin. “My lawyer will be in touch. We’ll need her contact information. For the subpoena.”

The word landed like a physical blow. Subpoena.

Paula turned to leave, then paused at the threshold. She didn’t look back. “For what it’s worth,” she said, her voice barely above a whisper, “he was always a better performer than he was a husband.”

Then the door clicked shut behind her.

The silence she left behind was deafening. It was filled with the echo of her words, the scent of her perfume, and the crumbling of Robin’s last illusion of control.

He stood staring at the closed door, his chest rising and falling too fast. April watched the panic solidify into something darker, more desperate. He turned to her, his eyes wide and wild.

“We need to fix this,” he said, but it sounded like a plea.