Chapter 3

By seven the next morning, Tessa’s shoes were gone from the hallway.

The silver laptop was still sitting on the kitchen island, the shared document open on the screen. As soon as Grant walked down the stairs in his gray fleece, he stepped behind the counter and clicked the lid shut.

“I didn’t want you to feel blindsided,” he said, pouring coffee into a mug.

“Then why did I?” I asked from the breakfast table.

Grant turned around, leaning back against the sink with his mug in hand. “Tess was just trying to help, Lauren. She saw I was stressed and offered to take some of the planning off my shoulders.”

“Why her?” I asked quietly, looking into his eyes. “Why not me?”

Grant held the coffee mug near his chest. He looked at me for three long seconds, the exhaustion around his eyes settling into an unvarnished, heavy truth.

“With Tess, I can finish a sentence,” he said.

He took a sip of his coffee and walked toward the bathroom to get dressed for work.

After the bathroom door closed, I opened the forum thread again.

Grant had added an update sometime before I came downstairs.

“She barely spoke to me last night. Tess thinks I should give her a little space, but I can’t pretend there aren’t things we need to figure out.”

One person had replied, “Why is Tess part of this at all?”

Grant’s answer sat directly underneath it.

“Because she can talk without turning everything into a fight.”

I didn't answer. I put on my coat and drove down to the medical center for the follow-up appointment urgent care had scheduled the night before. After a week of cramps and nausea, I had gone in after work; they had drawn blood, run the tests, and sent me home with medication while they ruled out anything more serious.

The doctor checked my chart, reviewed the lab work and abdominal ultrasound, then handed me a sealed white envelope with the reports. She went over my medication schedule and told me to rest and avoid greasy foods.

I took the envelope, placed it inside my leather work bag, and pulled the zipper shut.

At six in the evening, my phone buzzed on the passenger seat: “Stuck late fixing the quarterly operational review. Going to be a couple of hours. Love you.”

At seven-fifteen, on my way to pick up chicken broth from the cafe district two blocks from his office, I saw Grant’s silver sedan parked under an awning.

Through the broad glass window of the quiet European-style bakery, Grant and Tessa were sitting across from each other at a small wooden table.

They weren't hiding, and there was no romantic touch between them. They sat under the soft amber light with two mugs between them, like business partners trying to salvage a struggling firm.

I parked by the curb, cut the engine, and rolled my window down an inch. The crisp evening air carried their voices through the cafe’s propped-open side entrance.

“I’m not trying to change her,” Grant said, looking down at his clasped hands. “I try to talk about what happens next, and she hears me telling her what to do.”

Tessa leaned forward. “I told you a list might calm her down. I thought if you had something practical to show her, she’d see you were trying.”

Grant let out a dry laugh. “It was supposed to make things easier.”

“But you started with the list,” Tessa said. “She heard the decision before you ever asked the question.”

“I don’t know how to just wait when everything could change overnight.”

Tessa looked down at her coffee. “Then tell her that. I only meant to help.”

Grant looked at her for a long moment. “You make it sound simple.”

She said it as though the harm had begun only when I opened the laptop, not when she helped him decide what I would give up.

I started the car and drove home.

As I pulled into the driveway, a message from Grant arrived: “I picked up dinner. Can we start over tonight?”