He left me in the stark white room with the stirrups and a pamphlet about egg retrieval. He just walked out.
The phone call was from his mother, of course. Something urgent about his childhood best friend, Odalys. She was having a crisis. Again. And my husband, Dashiell, always went running. He chose her panic over my procedure. Over our future.
It was the final note in a song I’d been hearing for years. The way his family’s eyes would slide over me at dinner, already plotting his reunion with Odalys. The way Dashiell would dismiss my hurt as insecurity. I was the problem for wanting to be his first choice. The outsider in my own marriage.
The day I took off my wedding ring, I placed it on the ultrasound photo tucked in a drawer. He didn’t even notice it was gone.
How do you rebuild a life from the rubble of someone else’s priorities? And when the man who vowed to choose you finally sees what he’s lost, is any apology enough to piece it back together?
There is no cheating in this book.
