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What if it’s obvious that the baby doesn’t belong to Draco, and I am asked questions by the people around town?

They’ll think I’m a whore.

Sighing, I shake the thoughts away and force myself to focus on the task at hand.

The dress has enough of a stretch to it that I don’t really have a choice. I have to wear this one. I wonder if anyone at church will be able to tell.

Will they see the sin I’m hiding?

Maybe they won’t.

Maybe they’ll overlook it, until we can get married, anyway.

Draco says it should be as soon as possible.

He’s pushing for next week.

I want to give in to him, but something pulls me back, nags at me.

I lay my dress carefully on the armchair in the corner, smoothing out imaginary wrinkles with my palm. Next come the accessories—simple pearl earrings, a thin gold chain with a delicate cross pendant, nude stockings. Nothing flashy, nothing that would draw anyone’s eye. I have Draco for that, not that I want them looking at me, anyway. If anything, I would just rather no one notice me at all.

“The Lord is my shepherd,” I whisper, reminding myself. “I shall not want.”

But I do want, don’t I?

I want answers to questions I’m too afraid to ask. I want to understand the man whose bed I share. I want to believe thateverything happens for a reason, even if I still don’t understand what happened to me.

Who was he, the man who attacked me, and why did he pick me?

Was he the biological father of the baby I carried?

He had to be, right?

He had to have been hurting me for months.

But why had he stopped, and where was he now?

Was he afraid to come near me because of Draco?

The room feels suddenly cold, and I force the thought away. I reach for my cardigan, on its usual hanger in the closet, but it’s not there.

Did I leave it somewhere?

Maybe I overlooked it.

I’ll look again.

I turn to the closet again and slide the hangers apart, maybe a little too aggressively. One of Draco’s heavy leather coats jumps off a hanger and drops to the hardwood with a thud and a rattle of chains. Something clatters against the hardwood—multiple somethings, judging by the sounds. I freeze, still holding the empty hanger, and sigh, looking down at whatever it was that slipped out of the jacket.

Probably receipts and change, knowing Draco.

I kneel in the closet and grab the jacket, gently pulling it up to see what had fallen out, and as soon as I see it, I rip my hand back as if it’s a deadly spider.

No.

There’s no way.

I can’t have seen what my eyes just showed me.