Chapter 2

I came back to the apartment we'd shared for three years, and the living room was pitch dark.

I didn't turn on the light. I walked straight to the door of the second bedroom.

I pushed it open and froze.

The nursery I'd painted yellow had half its paint scraped roughly off the walls.

The floor was piled with yoga mats and a birthing ball and every kind of prenatal skincare product.

The crib was gone. In its place stood a full-length mirror.

The air was thick with scented oils.

My phone buzzed in my pocket.

I took it out. It was a screenshot Thomas had posted in the group chat.

Kathy's post.

The photo was Kerry from behind, helping her into a car.

The caption read: Thank you for giving me a home, and thank you to certain people for stepping aside. Baby, Mommy and Daddy love you.

Underneath were likes and comments from everyone who'd been in that private room tonight.

"The good wife's suffering finally pays off."

"Nothing sweeter than the real thing. Some people who take up space and do nothing should've cleared out ages ago."

"Exactly, and throwing her drink in public like that. Petty. No wonder Kerry didn't want her."

Kerry had replied below: Don't stay up late, it's bad for the baby.

I looked at that line on the screen, and my eyes ached.

He couldn't stand the thought of her staying up late because it might hurt the baby.

But he didn't care at all whether I, a woman alone, might be in danger walking the streets in the middle of the night.

And he cared even less that this nursery he'd torn out was one I'd spent night after night putting together.

The next morning there was a sound at the lock.

Kerry walked in carrying an insulated container.

Seeing me on the couch, he changed his shoes as if it were nothing, came over, and set the container on the coffee table.

"You're up? Go wash up and eat. Those breakfast pastries you love from that place on the south side."

He picked up a cushion, patted the dust off it, his voice gentle, as if nothing had happened last night.

I looked at him.

"The nursery in the second bedroom. Why did you tear it out?"

Kerry paused, then sat down beside me like it was nothing.

"Oh, Kathy said she needs to do yoga during the pregnancy, so I had someone redo it overnight."

He looked at me, and his tone took it all for granted.

"We're not using it for now anyway. Leaving it empty is just a waste."

"This is my apartment. Did you ask me before you touched it?"

My voice was flat, no rise or fall in it.

Kerry frowned, as if my attitude displeased him.

"Sophia, can you stop nitpicking over every little thing?"

He reached out to pull me toward him. I stepped away.

"This place may be in your name, but I paid the down payment."

"Kathy's pregnant now. She's emotionally sensitive. I only wanted her to have a comfortable environment."

He paused, and his voice softened into that patience he always fell back on.

"I know you've been hurt."

"Last night my friends said some ugly things. I've already dealt with them."

"Be good. Stop throwing tantrums at me all the time."

I looked at that self-satisfied tenderness of his, and my stomach heaved.

The early-pregnancy nausea rushed up out of nowhere. I clapped a hand over my mouth and bolted into the bathroom, retching.

Kerry followed to the doorway, frowning harder.

"What's wrong with you? Eat something bad?"

I turned on the tap, cold water rinsing through the sink.

Looking at my pale face in the mirror, I wiped the corner of my mouth.

"It's nothing."

I turned around and looked at him.

"Kerry. Take your things and get out."

Kerry's face finally darkened.

"Sophia, my patience has a limit."

He looked at me, disappointment in his eyes.

"I thought you were a woman who understood the bigger picture. I didn't expect you to be this unreasonable too."

He turned, walked to the entryway, and picked up his car keys.

"Right."

His hand on the door handle, he didn't turn back.

"Cancel next week's wedding photos."

"Kathy's morning sickness is bad. I need to stay home with her."

"Don't read too much into it. Once she has the baby, we'll still get married. I'll still give you the title."

The door slammed shut.

I stood there looking at that box of breakfast pastries on the coffee table.

A layer of scallions I hated most floated on top.

Five years, and he couldn't even remember I didn't eat scallions.

I walked over and dropped the whole thing, container and all, straight into the trash.