Chapter 1

“Brielle wants to go pick out a crib. I already told her you'd go with her tomorrow.”

Grant said this while I was eight months pregnant, crouched on the kitchen floor wiping up the soup his mother had spilled.

I braced a hand against the cabinet and pushed myself upright, my lower back tightening painfully.

“You promised me last night that I could have one day to rest.”

“You're just going to look around. You won't have to carry anything.” He took the dishcloth from me. “You know what you're doing. This is Brielle's first pregnancy, and Evan isn't here anymore.”

The moment he said his brother's name, the rest of my words died in my throat.

It was Wednesday night. I'd just finished handing off the next day's work to a coworker and had been hoping to get to bed early.

For the past six weeks, every argument between us had ended the same way.

Six weeks ago, Evan had died in a car accident, just after his wife, Brielle, found out she was pregnant.

After the funeral, Grant had stayed behind alone to settle the bills, then driven everyone home.

By the time he finally sat down, there were nothing but empty plates left on the dining table.

I reheated a meal for him.

As the microwave hummed, he suddenly said, “Mom asked me why it had to be Evan who died in that accident.”

I turned around.

He was staring down at his hand, picking at a piece of skin beside his thumbnail until it bled.

He didn't cry, but I still remembered how my own knees had nearly given out.

In our four years of marriage, I'd seen his mother forget his birthday.

I'd also watched her spend the entire night of his promotion talking about the new car Evan had just bought.

I wrapped my arms around him and agreed to let Brielle and his mother, Marianne, stay with us for a while.

Marianne had a home of her own, and Brielle still had the place she'd rented with Evan. She just couldn't bring herself to go back yet.

Grant said he'd sort everything out once they had some time to recover.

“You don't have to carry all of this by yourself.”

He buried his face against my shoulder, and it was a long time before he whispered, “Thank you.”

Back then, he still chopped vegetables while I cooked and put my slippers back by my feet whenever I kicked them off.

He said two weeks at most. Once his mother and Brielle were doing a little better, we'd focus on getting ready for our own baby.

Now they'd been in our guest room for six weeks, and our daughter's crib was still sitting in its box.

“Tessa?”

Grant's voice pulled me back.

“Ten tomorrow morning. I'll pick you both up at noon, and we'll be home before lunch.”

I looked at him.

“Do you remember why I cried last night?”

We'd had eight people over for a family dinner.

I'd been on my feet cooking the entire meal. The smell of baked fish made Brielle nauseous, so Marianne had me make soup for her instead.

By the time everyone left, my calves were so swollen I could barely get my socks off.

Grant sat on the edge of the bed and massaged my feet, telling me he hadn't realized how exhausted I was.

“Leave it to me from now on,” he'd said. “I'll talk to them.”

That had been less than twenty-four hours ago.

He set down the dishcloth and rested a hand on my shoulder.

“I remember. That's why tomorrow, all you're doing is helping her pick things out. You don't have to worry about anything else. I'll be there at twelve. I promise.”

He leaned down and kissed my forehead.

The refusal I'd already prepared suddenly became much harder to say.

“One last time,” I said. “I really need to rest.”

“I know.”

Before leaving the next morning, I put my maternity paperwork in my purse.

Grant had already left for work. He'd sent me a message saying he'd wrap up his meeting early.

Brielle stood by the front door scrolling through her phone. At her feet were the water and snacks I'd packed for her.

She glanced at my sneakers.

“The store's downtown, and we'll have to walk a bit. You're not going to have trouble keeping up, are you?”

“If I get tired, I'll stop and rest.”