“I don’t know if that’s true.” Christine checked the clock and she only had three minutes before Gemma showed up. “You know what I was thinking about on the drive in? I used to feel great about the baby, connected to the baby, but now I feel distant. I get that it’s a part of me, but it’s not a part of me that I’m so happy with right now.” Christine stopped unpacking for a moment. “If I had known that Donor 3319 was capable of murder, much less serial murder, I never would’ve picked him. Homestead never would’ve taken him as a donor. Right?”

“Okay,” Lauren said slowly.

“So, we can’t pretend it doesn’t matter just because that’s the way it turned out.”

Lauren blinked. “Okay, I get that.”

“Good.” Christine resumed unpacking. “Can you imagine when it comes time to tell him who his father is? First, your dad isn’t your biological dad. Second, your biological dad is a serial killer.”

“You’re getting ahead of yourself.”

“I have to. That day will come. We talk in therapy about disclosure, how to tell our friends we used a donor, how to tell our child.” Christine kept unpacking. “That’s the kind of news that can destroy a child. And if we don’t tell him, can you imagine if he finds out on his own?”

“You’re getting carried away—”

“No, I’m not. By the time he grows up, there’ll be major advances in technology. You read about facial recognition software, he’ll use it. It’ll be an app on his damn phone. It’s not a secret we can keep.”

“Okay, here’s what I think.” Lauren’s dark eyes flashed with intensity. “You wouldn’t have picked him if you had known, but now you have what you have. It’s not what you expected, isn’t it like a kid with special needs or reading problems? You adore your students. It doesn’t matter to you that they’re not what their parents expected.”

“This isn’t that.” Christine had thought it over. “A child with special needs is just a child who needs more help than someone else. A child of a serial killer, or whatever mental illness that makes someone a serial killer, may be a child who has a lifetime of no connections with other people. Of anger, of pain. Of isolation, of violence. He could grow up to harm others, to kill others, even to kill us.”

Lauren gasped. “What?”

“Lauren, be real. You’ve heard the stories about parents who have to lock their kid in his room so he doesn’t come out and kill them at night. You think I’ll sleep easy, knowing that my child has half the genes of a serial killer?”

“You can’t inherit being a serial killer.”

“Let’s not get technical, okay? I’ll be waiting for the other shoe to drop, won’t I?” Christine felt her throat tighten. “And even if I can deal with it, do you really think Marcus can?”

“That does worry me. He has to buy in.”

“Look, maybe I can love this baby, raise this baby, no matter who his biological father is. Marcus was almost there. But all that’s changed.” Christine felt it was true as soon as she said it aloud, like when Marcus had, last night. “He’s acting different. Colder. We’d come so far, but now it’s undone.”

“Do you think he’s blaming you that you even went with the donor instead of adopting? Or if you picked the wrong one?”

“Please, that’s what I’m thinking. I’m the queen of second-guessing. I’m asking myself a million what-ifs.” Christine unpacked the last gift bag. “If I know him, he’s blaming himself because if he hadn’t been infertile, we wouldn’t have this problem in the first place.”

“Oh boy.”

“It’s just going to bring everything back for him, all his feelings of inadequacy, and his reaction when he feels bad about himself is to withdraw.” Christine looked over, feeling ragged and sad. “Remember when he first got diagnosed? It was like living with the turtle who kept sticking his head inside his shell. We’ll probably have to go back into counseling.”

“If that’s what you have to do, that’s what you have to do. You guys love each other and you will get through this.”

“All I know is, I don’t feel like he’s in it with me. I feel like I’m in it alone.”

“Honey, you’re not alone. You got me.” Lauren looped an arm around her shoulder.

“Aw, thanks.” Christine scanned the desk, blanketed with festive bags, and it looked like she was having a party, which was the effect she had wanted for her students, even if it clashed with her current state of mind. Just then there was a knock on the door, meaning Gemma had arrived. Lauren left to meet with teachers, and Christine started her day, though Gemma was too distracted by her hamster book to concentrate on her drills, but allowed that she was “over hamsters” and moving on to guinea pigs.

Christine saw one student after the other, working with them when she could, dispensing their gift bags, listening to their last stories and little worries, giving them her final words of encouragement, hugging them all good-bye, and reminding them to keep up with summer reading. She knew that even the younger grades would be given summer homework by their other teachers, but her reading students had made so much progress during the year, she didn’t want them to lose it in just two months. She didn’t care what they read, just that they read, even if she wasn’t going to be their teacher anymore.

Christine accepted small gifts from the moms who stopped in, because Nutmeg Hill allowed it, and she was happy to see the moms and grateful for their kindness, whether their gifts were gift-wrapped boxes from a department store or tin-foiled loaves of home-baked banana bread. She truly believed it was a privilege to teach their children, and she told them so, with tears in her eyes.

Last, she said good-bye to Pam, the office staff, and her fellow teachers, holding back more tears though she felt an undercurrent of sadness and profound loss. There was no emptier-feeling day than the last day of school, when the desks are pushed together and the chairs turned upside down on top, and she’d felt that way even when she had been a student herself. Both of her parents were high-school educators, so she’d never doubted that her work had meaning, especially teaching children to read, because reading was the cornerstone of self-esteem, success, and even a simple pleasure that was lifelong. She had expected that her last day of school would be bittersweet, knowing she’d be leaving teaching behind, as well as students she loved, but she’d been willing to give everything up for a baby of her own and a happy new family.