He stood in the examination room holding his overpriced espresso, acting as if nothing on earth could disturb his polished, arrogant calm.
I had not slept in four days.
Nathan didn’t know that. But there were many things he no longer knew about me. Knowing someone required attention, and my husband had stopped giving me that attention long before I realized exactly whose bed it had wandered into.
The appointment with Dr. Meredith was supposed to be simple. Quiet. Private.
It was supposed to confirm the life growing inside me—the life I had discovered on a plastic test seventy-two hours after Nathan packed a suitcase and walked out of our home.
But Nathan insisted on coming.
And he did not come alone.
He entered the sterile white room of Willow Creek Women’s Clinic with Amber right behind him. Amber, the woman wearing my husband’s jacket in the photo he had posted online. Amber, the woman he called his “truth” after accusing me of the ugliest betrayal possible.
Nathan did not only bring his mistress to my ultrasound.
He brought a black leather folder.
“Let’s make this quick, Rachel,” Nathan said, his voice completely empty of the warmth I had loved for seven years. He dropped the folder onto the metal tray beside the bed. “I have meetings at noon.”
I stared at it.
