Ethan had placed a cup beside our bed.

He was already dressed, sitting quietly in a chair.

He looked strangely nervous.

“Happy anniversary,” he said.

I smiled and reached for him.

He kissed me, then gently rested his hand against my growing belly.

“How are my two favorite girls?”

I laughed.

“We don’t even know whether it’s a girl.”

“I’ve got a feeling.”

He smiled.

But then his expression changed.

“Olivia, I need to tell you something.”

I sat up.

“What is it?”

“I sent your mother a package yesterday.”

My smile faded.

“You sent Mom a package?”

He nodded.

“It should have arrived by now.”

A nervous feeling settled in my stomach.

For five years, Ethan had tolerated my mother’s insults without retaliating.

Had he finally reached his limit?

“What did you send her?”

He looked down for a moment.

“Something she should have gotten back a long time ago.”