"I know these past weeks have been hard on you." He bent his head and kissed my knee. "Once the baby's here, I'll take you both to an island getaway. Just the three of us, our little family."

I studied the profile of his earnest face. The day the pregnancy was confirmed, he'd crouched in front of me just like this, so moved his eyes went red. That day, right in front of me, he'd dropped Luna's number into his blocked list and swore up and down that from then on his whole world would be just the three of us, our little home. But barely three days later, the block was quietly lifted. The reason: Sean had spiked a fever in the night, and Luna couldn't manage him alone. From that day on, Luna's calls turned into overnight stays, every single one backed by a "perfectly reasonable" excuse I couldn't argue with.

I looked away and lowered my legs.

There was movement by the front door. Luna had taken Sean by the hand, ready to leave, and was bending down in the entryway to change her shoes.

The phone she'd set on the shoe cabinet lit up with a forum notification.

From a few steps away, I saw that familiar app icon, and the exact same profile picture as the top reply on last night's viral post.

Back in the bedroom, I locked the door behind me.

Sitting on the edge of the bed, I picked up my phone, searched for that viral post, tapped the top commenter's avatar, and went into her page.

Her page had hundreds of posts, stretching back two years.

For my child's emotional well-being, even after the divorce I still go to my ex-husband's house every week to cook.

My ex-husband's current wife is pregnant, so I've taken on most of the housework caring for them, just so my child can have a whole childhood.

Today I burned my hand making soup in the kitchen. My ex felt terrible about it, but I told him, as long as his wife can safely deliver the baby, it's fine if I suffer a little.

Under every post were hundreds of comments. People praised her as a great mother, a big-hearted, good woman.

My gaze snagged on one of the top-liked replies.

User Jordan: "You're a good mom. He sees everything you do, he'll understand one day. It isn't easy being the ex-wife."

Jordan was the username Silas always used.

My stomach lurched. I clamped a hand over my mouth and forced down the wave of nausea.

I kept scrolling and found the post she'd put up last night. In the update on the main thread, she'd written: "His current wife is 87 days into keeping the pregnancy, needs injections every day, her belly's all bruised now. My ex is heartbroken over it, and it hurts me to watch too, so all I can do is make her more nourishing soup."

I stared at that line, my fingertips ice-cold.

God. Her belly's all bruised.

That was the sight only Silas had seen, every time I finished an injection and hid in the bathroom to wipe away my tears in secret.

I'd thought it was the most private pain between us as husband and wife, proof of how much he ached for me.

But he'd taken the state of my body and turned it into material for late-night chats with his ex-wife. And his ex-wife had spun that material into bargaining chips for sympathy online.

I closed the forum, my heart gone to ash.

Toward evening, I heard the door open in the living room.

Silas came in carrying a bouquet of baby's breath and the plump red berries I loved most.

"Honey, look what I brought you." He set the flowers on the nightstand, went to the kitchen to rinse the berries, and carried them over to me.

He pinched up the biggest, reddest one and held it to my lips. "Passed a fruit stand today and saw them. Bought them just for you. Just hold on one more day. The day after tomorrow you'll get to hear the baby's heartbeat, and I'll record it to use as my ringtone."

I looked at that berry, the purple-red juice staining his fingertips.

I thought of the first time I found out he and Luna were in constant contact. We'd had a huge fight. He'd slammed the door on his way out and given me the silent treatment for three days. In the end, I was the one who bought berries and sent him the first apology text. After that, I learned to be "sensible." Don't bring it up, don't make a scene, don't look at his phone. I'd thought that was the wisdom of keeping a marriage together.

I opened my mouth and bit into the berry. Sweet. So sweet it turned bitter.

"Okay." I pulled a tissue and wiped the corner of my mouth.

Once he'd gone to shower, I picked up my phone. Opened the Vantage Airlines app, selected the eight a.m. flight to Southport on Thursday. Tapped through. Check-in confirmed.

The next morning, Silas left for the office.

I dug an old cardboard box out of the bottom of the closet and started packing. There wasn't much that belonged to me, really. This apartment was full of Sean's toys and the traces of a life Luna had left behind, everywhere I looked.

I sealed the box, arranged for a same-day courier, and sent it to my college friend Sapphire's place in Southport.

Then I opened the hospital app and transferred my records to Southport Women's & Children's Hospital.

At four in the afternoon, the lock turned. Silas had come home early.

He walked over to the couch, sat down, and out of habit rested his hand on my belly.

"Babe, I need to run something by you." There was a testing note in his voice.

I looked at him and said nothing.

"After we hear the heartbeat tomorrow, I might not be able to take you out for Japanese in the afternoon." He avoided my eyes. "Luna says it's her mom's birthday tomorrow. The old lady hasn't seen Sean in a long time and misses him terribly. I have to bring Sean and go back with her, sit down for a meal with her mom."

I took a sip of water and said calmly, "Fine."

Silas blinked. He cleared his throat and started explaining, unprompted.

"Luna doesn't have a choice either. Her mom raised her alone through all kinds of hardship, and now she's getting on in years, her health isn't good. It's such a small wish for the old lady. As the younger generation, we ought to go along with it. Besides, Sean misses his grandma."

Watching him scramble to justify himself, I found it almost absurd.

"Mm, whatever you arrange is fine." I set the water glass down and stood up. "What do you want for dinner tonight? I'll order in."

Silas got to his feet and hugged me from behind.

"Babe, you're so good to me. I knew you'd understand." He kissed the side of my face. "After I'm done with them in the afternoon, I'll come home early tonight and keep you company."

I let him hold me, my gaze drifting to the shoe cabinet by the entryway. Three pairs of slippers sat there. A men's pair, a child's pair, and a pink women's pair. Luna's.

Like an outsider, I studied this home I'd lived in for three years. Every piece of furniture, every inch of floor, told me in silence that I was only a temporary guest here.

The night grew late.

In the bedroom there was nothing left but the even sound of his breathing. Silas had his back to me, deep asleep.

I turned onto my side and, in the faint glow of the streetlight coming through the window, looked at his back. This face, this silhouette. I'd looked at them for three years. After tomorrow, I'd never have to look at them again.

I picked up my phone and booked a car to the airport for five in the morning.

At four thirty, without an alarm, I opened my eyes in the silence.

I slipped out of bed quietly, careful not to wake Silas sleeping beside me.

I went to the wardrobe and took out a kraft paper envelope.

Inside were my ID, my passport, my bank cards, and a divorce agreement I'd already signed.

I tucked the envelope into the tote bag I'd carry with me.

Passing the nursery, I stepped over and eased the door open.

By the light from the hallway, I saw the half-assembled natural-wood crib in the room. Last weekend, Silas had sat on the floor, chewing the cap of a pen while he studied the instructions and puzzled over where the screws went.

Beside the crib, a giraffe-shaped growth chart was stuck to the wall. Down at the very bottom, next to the zero mark, Silas had drawn a tiny sun in black marker, and beside it a single line of words: "Baby's first day."

My hand drifted lightly over that hand-painted sun.

He did love this unborn child, and he really was showing it, day by day. But that cowardly love of his, love with no boundaries at all, was like candy wrapped around shards of glass. I ate it until my mouth ran with blood.

I drew my hand back, stepped out of the nursery, and pulled the door shut behind me.

The living room lay in shadow. I crossed to the entryway, my eyes settling on the surface above the shoe cabinet, where a few things had been arranged in a neat row.

A prenatal bag stuffed with every kind of record and receipt, an insulated cup filled with hot water, and one yellow sticky note.

I leaned in for a look. On the note, in Silas's familiar handwriting, was the day's schedule:

"9:00 arrive at the hospital — 9:30 fetal monitoring — 10:00 ultrasound — 10:30 talk with the doctor."

Beside it was stuck a second slip of paper, this one blue:

"Must be back by 1 p.m. to pick up Luna and Sean for the gathering. Remember to buy the sugar-free cake the old lady likes."

The two notes side by side read like a precise timetable.

The morning belonged to his present wife's duties, the afternoon to his ex-wife's obligations. The hours carved up, clear as day.

A muffled mumble drifted out of the bedroom.

I held my breath. Silas rolled over, and the bed frame gave a faint creak.

"Don't cry, Sean… Daddy's here…"

He soothed the boy in his sleep, low and gentle.

I stood there and listened to his breathing settle back into an even rhythm. He was only dreaming. But that was exactly it, the unconscious thing surfacing on its own, laying bare where this home's heart truly lay.

Three years ago, I walked into this apartment for the first time. It was still bare concrete then, and Silas held my hand and pointed at the empty living room. "From now on, everything in here goes the way you like it."

I chose the pale gray curtains for the living room, the pure cotton bedding for the bedroom, the refrigerator for the kitchen.

Three years later, Sean's art award hung beside those curtains, a magnet with Luna's handwritten recipe was stuck to the fridge, and a pair of pink slippers always sat waiting in the shoe cabinet. Everything I'd chosen was still here, but there had been no place for me in this home for a long time.

At the entryway I put on my shoes and set the front-door key down beside that blue sticky note.

At five on the dot, my phone buzzed once. A message from the car service: "Arrived at the pickup point."

I turned the door handle and stepped out into the cold morning air.

At ten past seven, Silas was woken by his phone alarm.

Out of habit, he reached for the person beside him, meaning to pull me into his arms. But all he found was a stretch of sheet gone cold.

He jolted upright, rubbed his eyes, and stared at the empty half of the bed.

"Babe?" he called out.

No one answered.

He threw off the covers and got up, shuffling out of the bedroom in his slippers. The bathroom door stood open, no white steam rose in the kitchen, and the living room was quiet enough to hear the wall clock ticking.

He reached the entryway and saw the key lying beside the sticky note, and the divorce papers pressed under the insulated cup.

He picked up the few pages, flipped through them carelessly, and his brow furrowed. He let out a short scoff and tossed the papers back onto the surface. Grabbing his phone, he dialed my number.

I hung up on him. A text came through:

"Norma, there's a limit to throwing a tantrum. What's this, leaving your key there? Don't try to use divorce to pressure me. You're five months pregnant. Where do you think you'd go without me?"

"I tore the papers up. Quit this pointless joke. I already took the day off for the two of you. I'll be waiting at the hospital entrance at nine. Don't embarrass me."

I sat on the plane to Southport, looked at the message on my screen, calmly tapped delete, and powered the phone off.