Because of Henry's nightmares, Dr. Bernstein had requested a rush on the genetic testing results. It probably didn't hurt that she was a minor celebrity herself, an ob-gyn to the stars, whose patients included the elite and very wealthy of New York City.

She had told Henry and Mouse that there were some unusual markers in Henry's profile that necessitated further testing, but that there was nothing to worry about.

"Please, the reason for these tests is to allay your fears, not produce new ones," she told the couple. "What I want to do is get Leo in here to check a few things, if that's okay. The little one you're carrying is much too small to test yet, and drawing blood from Leo is by far the easiest course."

"But Leo's only this baby's half-sibling," Henry said, looking at Dr. Bernstein in concern. "What could you learn from him? And what's wrong? What aren't you telling us?"

"I knew this would happen," the doctor said, shaking her head. "Listen, you two, and especially you, Henry. You listed your background as Anglo-Irish, but you show some genetic markers for things we usually only see in people of Eastern European Jewish descent, that's all."

"You mean like Ashkenazy Jews?" Mouse asked. Both Henry and the doctor stared at her. "One of my roommates was an Ashkenazy Jew," she explained. "It's really interesting, so I did a little reading." She turned to Henry. "I don't think there's anything to worry about, though, Henry. I mean, and correct me if I'm wrong, here, Doctor, but isn't there only a problem if they reproduce with each other? Isn't it a recessive gene?"

Dr. Bernstein nodded.

"And you, Mouse, don't have the marker, so it's not an issue, but it's safest if we test Leo, and run an amnio on your baby in a few weeks," she explained. She turned again to Henry.

"Basically, when we did your panel, we came up with more questions instead of answers, and we don't like questions in my business," she said with a laugh. "So we want to do an oral swab on Leo and get those questions answered, that's all." She spread her hands. "So relax, nothing to worry about, okay?" She turned her head to include both Mouse and Henry in her next remarks. "And the fastest, least expensive, not to mention most accurate tests available are through those companies you see on TV, believe it or not, so that's who we're going to use. Ancestry, Gene23 and all that?"

"Really?" Mouse asked.

The doctor nodded, smiling. "Like pregnancy tests. We have a stack of the same ones you guys use, the ones you buy at CVS and Duane Reade. Sometimes what's available to the consumer is best. So bring Leo in here, we'll do a buccal swab, and see what's what, okay?"

So they'd brought Leo by and swabbed his mouth, which made him laugh, and put the whole thing out of their collective minds. Just taking action seemed to have helped Henry, as his nightmares subsided, and he was once again able to sleep through the night.

Lovely, colorful September moved onto cool October, and Mouse's pregnancy moved along as well, though she continued to feel sick most of the time. She lost some weight, which worried her men, and Henry finally decided to take a mental health day off from his busy job and spend a grown up day with his wife. He carefully didn't tell Leo that he wasn't going in to work, or Leo would've been clamoring to play hooky with them.

After they dropped Leo off at school, Henry told Mouse that he was off that day, and so was she.

"Henry, that's ridiculous, I can't, I have so much to do--" Mouse began. She saw the look on Henry's face, and resolutely stopped talking. They then spent the day kicking around the city, looking at museums and galleries, which Mouse had actually never done before. It was thrilling for her to walk into the world famous SoHo Gallery and be greeted by Willelm Manfred himself. She tried to remember every detail for Travis; he was an avid photographer himself, and would want to know all about it.

"You feeling okay?" Henry asked as they sat down to a late lunch. "I remember how much you liked this place from last time," he told her with a smile. They were at a beautiful restaurant on one of the upper floors of the building where the gallery was located, and the ride up in the elevator had done a number on her stomach. The views of the Hudson and New Jersey were unrivaled, but Mouse couldn't enjoy it.

Mouse nodded gamely, though she really wasn't. It was nearly fourteen weeks, though, surely the nausea would be getting better?

Henry wasn't fooled, though, and he watched her carefully as she tried to eat her elegantly prepared boeuf bourguignon. After a couple of minutes, he put a gentle hand on her arm, causing her to lay down her fork.

"You don't want to eat this, do you?" he asked.

She shook her head.

"Mouse, why didn't you say so?" Henry asked.

"You were so happy that we were coming here, so pleased that you remembered how much I liked it," Mouse said.

"Idiot," Henry responded, rising.

"What are you doing?" Mouse asked, looking up at him. "Our food just got here!"

"Just looking at it is making you turn green, honey," Henry told her. "It would be criminal to make you sit here and try to eat it." He turned to the waiter.

"My wife isn't feeling well, could we just get the check, please?" he asked. "I'll pay up front, if that's okay."

"Of course, Monsieur," the waiter murmured. "Would you like me to wrap your meal to go?" he asked.

Henry shook his head. "She's pregnant, and the aroma is very off-putting to her at the moment," he explained.

The waiter nodded understandingly.

"It's not the food," Mouse was quick to explain. "It's lovely, honest. I'm so sorry."

"Please, Madame, no apologies are necessary," the waiter assured her. "Please return to us when you're feeling better, d'accord?"

When they were on the street, Henry turned to his wife, who was gripping his arm from the elevator ride down.

"Oh, this cold air feels amazing," she said, turning her head into the brisk, October wind. "Can we just walk for a bit? There's supposed to be a storm brewing, and we should get outside while we can, you know?"

"Sure," Henry answered with a laugh, and they strolled, arm in arm, through lower Manhattan, enjoying the nice day and the people and just being outside.

"Oh my god, Henry, can you smell that?" Mouse turned as if drawn by a magnet. "That smells incredible! I'm starving all of a sudden." She turned an eager face to her husband, who read the sign with a laugh.

"Daniuszewska's Deli. Fresh pastrami daily." He laughed again. "Really?" he asked his wife. "You're hungry now? For that?"

Mouse nodded, looking happy and not queasy for the first time in hours, so they went in to the steamy, smelly, crowded deli, which had a few tables off to the side.

"What did you want to eat?" Henry asked, looking at Mouse's face.

"Something smelled so good," she murmured, scouring the handwritten chalkboard above the counter with her eyes.

"Something" turned out to be a Reuben sandwich with extra sauerkraut, a huge side of potato salad, and two dill pickle spears.

Henry, in between bites of his own roast beef sandwich, watched in amazement as Mouse devoured her food.

"You gonna eat that?" she asked as she ate, gesturing at his potato pancakes. He'd ordered three, and there was one left.

Henry shook his head. "You want it? Go ahead," he told her, shaking his head in amazement.

She nodded her thanks, motioning toward the dish of apple sauce that sat on his plate.

"Please," Henry acquiesced, and Mouse took that, too.

"I guess all those stereotypes about pregnant women are true," he finally said, looking at their empty plates.

"I'm not even sorry," Mouse declared, stifling a tiny belch with the back of her hand. "That's the first thing I've eaten in months that actually tasted good, Henry!"

"Well, good, good!" he responded, putting his hand on the back of her head and pulling her close for a kiss. "Whatever you can eat, you should."

They loaded up on corned beef, Swiss cheese, sauerkraut, everything they'd need to make the delicious sandwiches at home, along with a bunch of the pickle spears and potato pancakes and applesauce. They stepped out into the day, which had darkened while they'd been eating.

"You know what would make this perfect?" Mouse asked rhetorically as they walked down Bleecker Street.

"What? Name it, and it's yours," Henry replied.

"Ice cream," Mouse answered, pointing at the Ben & Jerry's.

"Ice cream?" Henry repeated. "Isn't that a bit cliche? Ice cream and pickles?"

"Dude, cliches don't come from nowhere," Mouse retorted.

So they entered the store and bought five or six different flavors, including Leo's favorites.

"We're going to have to hustle to get Leo home before the rain, I think," Henry said, looking at the sky.

And they made it, just, laughing as they thanked Mr. Bobby for holding the door for them just as the first huge drops hit the sidewalk.

"Wow, you guys went shopping for all kinds of good food, it smells like," Leo said in the elevator.

"We did, because mommy finally found her appetite today," Henry told his son.

They watched the storm all afternoon from the family room. It was the first big storm of the year, and it was a doozy.

"Do they ever close school for just a rainstorm?" Leo asked hopefully. "Like they do for snowstorms sometimes?"

"Sometimes, if the electricity goes out," Henry answered, laughing. "Don't get your hopes up, though, kiddo."

His phone rang, and he picked it up.

"Hello? Yes," he said, smiling as he looked over at Mouse. "Yes, yes. Oh. Really?"

Mouse, who was looking at baby furniture on her laptop, looked over at her husband. Henry sat down at the kitchen table.

"Are you sure? How can that be?" Henry's smile was long gone. Leo, oblivious, was watching the storm, his arm around Happy, who sat attentively next to him, looking out at the rain and lightning.

"Okay. Yes, I understand." Henry was nodding, though of course the person he was talking to couldn't see him. He looked like he'd been punched in the stomach, and Mouse set her laptop aside.

"Thank you. Yes. Yes. I understand. Okay. Tomorrow. I'll speak with her. Thanks for calling."

He set his phone down on the table and turned to look at his wife. Mouse suddenly felt like there wasn't enough air in the room.

"Henry? Who was that? Was it the doctor?"

Henry rose, picking up his phone. His face was bluish white, and he acted like he hadn't heard her. "I'll be in my den. Please don't disturb me for anything, okay?" He left without waiting for a response.

"Henry?" Mouse rose, reaching for him as he walked by. "Henry, wait--" But he was gone. She heard the door close.

Leo turned at the sound. "Where did daddy go?" he asked, his arm still around his dog.

"He had a little work to do before dinner," Mouse lied.

Leo nodded, turning to look out at the storm once more.

Mouse sat, blindly scrolling through pictures of cribs and changing tables until Leo started asking about dinner.

She rose and heated up the lasagne as her young son set the table, and she sent him to call Henry to the table when it was ready.

She heard Leo's small feet run down the hall, and she heard his knock before he threw the door open. "Daddy, dinner!"

"I told you not to disturb me!"

Even from the kitchen Mouse could hear Henry's booming voice, a voice she'd never heard him use before.

"Get out! Get out of here!"

Oh my god.

She once again heard the sound of her son's little feet, and knew what he'd look like before she saw his face. He entered the kitchen, tiny features stricken, lips sucked in, eyes huge.

"He--he yelled at me," Leo whispered, tears spilling over.

"Oh, baby, I'm so sorry," Mouse said softly, holding her arms out. Leo ran to her and she enfolded him in her embrace, lifting him so he could fit his hot face into her neck.

She leaned on the counter and held him and soothed him. "That was my fault," she apologized. "Daddy said he didn't want to see anyone, and I forgot, big guy, so I'm sorry."

After a few minutes, she said, "You know? I think I want ice cream for dinner today, what do you think?"

Leo stopped crying and pulled away to look at her. "Really?" he asked.

Mouse nodded. "And we bought all kinds, too! Let's try them all, okay?"

So they cleared away the table and set out all the different kinds of ice cream and sampled them all, even setting a plate on the floor for Happy. Leo's good humor was restored, as Mouse hoped it would be. He was even able to talk about it.

"What do you think is wrong with daddy?" he asked as he licked a spoonful of Chunky Monkey off his spoon.

Mouse shrugged. "Probably something at work, who knows?" she replied, keeping her voice casual. She kept the mood upbeat and cheerful all night, through his bath and story time, though it took considerable effort.

Once Leo was asleep, though, her mouth set in a grim line and she steeled herself as she opened the door to the den without knocking. After his behavior toward his son, he didn't deserve this basic courtesy, as far as she was concerned.

"What the fuck was that about?" she asked, eyes blazing. Her next words died in her throat when she saw his face, however.

In the space of a few hours, Henry looked like he'd aged twenty years. His face was lined, and he had dark blue circles under his eyes, his haunted eyes.

"Henry, you need to tell me what's going on, right now," Mouse said, struggling to keep her voice even. "Please."

"The phone call earlier," Henry got out with effort as he rose from his desk. He moved like an old man. "It was Dr. Bernstein."

Mouse took a deep breath. "Oh god, what? Henry? The baby?" What could it be? They already said she'd checked out fine, and so had Henry, except for that Jewish heritage business, which was a curiosity, nothing more.

"No, the baby's fine," Henry assured her, coming around the desk and putting his hands on her shoulders. "It's Leo."

Leo?

"No, oh no, Henry, no no," Mouse said softly, feeling for the chair behind her.

"Is he okay?" Henry asked. "I feel like shit for yelling at him--"

"He's sleeping," Mouse said, taking deep breaths. "Henry, what is it? What's wrong with him? He seems so healthy, what is it? What?"

"He's healthy, he's healthy," Henry assured her. "Nothing like that."

"Then what? He has the Ashkenazy gene? That disease they all have?" Mouse searched her brain for the name. "Tay-Sachs disease?"

Henry shook his head. "According to the tests that they ran, Leo doesn't have it."

Mouse let out a shuddering breath and nodded. "Okay. Okay. So what, then? What?"

"According to the tests, Leo doesn't share any of my genetic heritage at all." He stopped to let his words sink in.

Mouse just stared at him.

What?

"According to the tests," Henry continued, in that same, horrible, defeated voice, "Leo doesn't have any of my DNA."

What?

"Leo's not mine."