Chapter 3
The next morning, Grant missed another prenatal appointment.
He called while I was in the hospital parking lot and said there was an emergency on one of his projects. He promised he would pick me up as soon as it was handled, then asked me to find out whether the baby had dropped yet.
"Don't bother coming," I said. "Emily is with me."
The other end of the line went quiet.
"When did you arrange that?"
"Just now. You're busy, aren't you?"
Grant gave a short laugh, as if reminding himself not to argue with a pregnant woman. "Of course. I just wish you'd call me first when you need someone."
Yesterday, that sentence would have made me feel guilty.
Today, it only sounded cruelly ironic.
The examination showed that the baby had dropped, but labor had not begun.
My doctor reminded me that at thirty-six weeks, regular contractions, bleeding, or my water breaking meant I needed to come straight to the hospital. Then she asked who would be with me during the delivery.
"My sister," I said.
Emily's head snapped toward me.
The doctor looked up as well. "Your husband won't be there?"
"Plans changed."
I asked the nurse to update my emergency contacts, placing Emily first, and revoked Grant's authority to make medical decisions for me.
My hand remained steady as I completed the forms.
What finally made me tremble was the nurse asking, "Are you safe at home?"
I used to believe safety simply meant a man did not hit you.
Now I knew that someone who understood I could go into labor at any moment, yet used my trust to conceal an affair, could leave me just as defenseless when I was at my most vulnerable.
Emily did not force me to explain after we left the hospital.
She took me somewhere to eat. Only after I played the entire recording did she pull the car over.
"What are you going to do?" she asked.
"Move out before the baby comes."
"Just move out?"
I looked through the window and finally said aloud the answer that had lived inside me for a long time, though I had not been willing to admit it until the night before.
"I'm filing for divorce."
That afternoon, Emily came with me to see an attorney.
Grant and I owned our house jointly, and there were no signs that he had emptied our accounts. Even so, the attorney advised me to preserve our financial records, medical arrangements, and every communication between us. She also warned me not to sign anything in anger.
I rented a month-to-month apartment near the hospital.
It had only one bedroom, and the window did not overlook a perfectly manicured lawn. But it was eight minutes from the maternity ward.
When I came home that evening, Grant was assembling the baby monitor.
"What did the doctor say?" he asked.
"The baby is fine."
He exhaled in relief, then complained that his incompetent project manager had made him miss the appointment.
I watched him bend over the wires and suddenly asked, "Grant, have you slept with Brooke?"
The screwdriver slipped from his hand and landed on the carpet.
"What?"
"It's a simple question."
He stared at me for several seconds. Then he stood and reached for my face.
"No. She just got divorced. She's emotionally unstable, and I've helped her a few times. Did someone say something to you?"
I moved away from his hand. "So the answer is no?"
"Of course it's no." His voice hardened. "You haven't been sleeping well, and even your doctor said the hormones can make you anxious. Stop imagining things."
I gave him one last chance to tell me the truth.
He did not hesitate. He did not struggle.
He simply wrapped the lie in concern for me and placed it back in my hands.
That night, Grant slept soundly beside me.
Beneath the covers, I opened the email my attorney had just sent.
The divorce petition was ready.
All it needed was my signature.