Chapter 2

He froze.

"What did you just say?"

I looked at him. "Divorce. You're sleeping in the guest room tonight."

Outside, another firework exploded, illuminating the shock on his face.

"Just because I didn't spend New Year's with you? Natalie, is this really necessary?"

I didn't answer. I just turned and walked into the master bedroom.

Before the door clicked shut, I heard him shout, "What are you throwing a tantrum for now? Can you stop blowing this out of proportion?"

I leaned against the door, resting my hand over my slightly rounded belly.

"It's just us now, baby," I whispered.

The Natalie Reed who believed love could last a lifetime died on that New Year's Eve.

It was pouring rain the morning of my appointment.

After breakfast, Daniel's door was still firmly shut. I knocked.

"Leaving at eight."

No answer.

At 7:50, I grabbed my bag and walked out.

In the elevator, my phone buzzed with a text from him.

[Something came up. Need an Uber?]

I stared at the screen, remembering my very first checkup. He had requested the day off a week in advance, clutching the appointment slip so hard it wrinkled.

In the OB-GYN's office, the doctor had pointed at the monitor. "There's the heartbeat."

Daniel's eyes had instantly welled up. Outside the hospital, he spun me around in the parking lot, shouting, "I'm going to be a dad!"

Back then, his phone was on 24/7 for me. If I craved spicy ramen from Wicker Park, he’d drive an hour to get it.

Now, something came up.

I typed back: [No need. I'll drive myself.]

The hospital was packed. The obstetrics waiting area was full of pregnant women, almost all of them accompanied by someone.

The checkup went smoothly.

"Baby looks perfectly healthy," the doctor smiled, looking at the ultrasound.

I stared at that tiny silhouette on the screen, my throat tightening.

"Next up is the first-trimester screening," the doctor said. "You'll need to sign the consent forms. If you want your spouse here, he can come to that one."

I nodded.

Where would the divorce proceedings be by then?

After leaving the clinic, I headed to the pharmacy to pick up my vitamins.

While waiting in line, a familiar figure caught my eye.

Daniel.

He was walking out of the pediatric ER, carrying a three- or four-year-old boy. Claire was walking right beside him, her eyes red and puffy.

The boy’s face was flushed, his head resting limply on Daniel's shoulder. Daniel was looking down at him, talking in a soft, gentle voice.

They didn't see me.

I stood rooted to the spot, the paper bag of vitamins suddenly feeling impossibly heavy.

So he did remember he had to come to the hospital today.

Just not for me.

"Natalie?"

Daniel suddenly turned his head. The color drained from his face the second he saw me.

He hurriedly handed the kid to Claire and practically sprinted over.

"What are you doing over here? Is your appointment done?"

"Yeah."

"Natalie, I didn't mean to skip it. It's just—"

The boy started wailing. "Daniel! It hurts..."

Claire hugged the kid, looking over with tear-filled eyes. "Daniel, Mason wants you to hold him."

Daniel stood there, torn.

The absurdity of the scene almost made me laugh.

"Go," I said flatly. "He needs you."

"Natalie, Mason spiked a sudden fever and passed out for a second. Claire couldn't handle it alone, that's why I—"

"Daniel, Mason threw up!" Claire shrieked.

The kid had puked all over himself, splashing Daniel's jacket. Instinct took over. Daniel spun around to tend to the boy.

I turned and walked away.

"Natalie!" he called out behind me.

I didn't look back.

Just as the elevator doors slid shut, I saw him rushing Mason toward the restrooms, Claire clinging tightly to his arm.

Like a real family.

Sitting in my car, I gripped the steering wheel, my fingers trembling.

It wasn't anger. Just a bitter, hollow kind of clarity.

My phone buzzed.

[Mason isn't doing well. I'll be home late.]

My face completely blank, I typed:

[Daniel, when you get back, we're discussing the divorce.]

My thumb hovered over the send button.

I deleted it. Retyped.

[Don't bother coming back.]

Send.

Then, I opened my contacts, found Laura Grant, and hit call.

"Ms. Grant, this is Natalie Reed."

"I want to file for divorce."

Chapter 2

He froze.

"What did you just say?"

I looked at him. "Divorce. You're sleeping in the guest room tonight."

Outside, another firework exploded, illuminating the shock on his face.

"Just because I didn't spend New Year's with you? Natalie, is this really necessary?"

I didn't answer. I just turned and walked into the master bedroom.

Before the door clicked shut, I heard him shout, "What are you throwing a tantrum for now? Can you stop blowing this out of proportion?"

I leaned against the door, resting my hand over my slightly rounded belly.

"It's just us now, baby," I whispered.

The Natalie Reed who believed love could last a lifetime died on that New Year's Eve.

It was pouring rain the morning of my appointment.

After breakfast, Daniel's door was still firmly shut. I knocked.

"Leaving at eight."

No answer.

At 7:50, I grabbed my bag and walked out.

In the elevator, my phone buzzed with a text from him.

[Something came up. Need an Uber?]

I stared at the screen, remembering my very first checkup. He had requested the day off a week in advance, clutching the appointment slip so hard it wrinkled.

In the OB-GYN's office, the doctor had pointed at the monitor. "There's the heartbeat."

Daniel's eyes had instantly welled up. Outside the hospital, he spun me around in the parking lot, shouting, "I'm going to be a dad!"

Back then, his phone was on 24/7 for me. If I craved spicy ramen from Wicker Park, he’d drive an hour to get it.

Now, something came up.

I typed back: [No need. I'll drive myself.]

The hospital was packed. The obstetrics waiting area was full of pregnant women, almost all of them accompanied by someone.

The checkup went smoothly.

"Baby looks perfectly healthy," the doctor smiled, looking at the ultrasound.

I stared at that tiny silhouette on the screen, my throat tightening.

"Next up is the first-trimester screening," the doctor said. "You'll need to sign the consent forms. If you want your spouse here, he can come to that one."

I nodded.

Where would the divorce proceedings be by then?

After leaving the clinic, I headed to the pharmacy to pick up my vitamins.

While waiting in line, a familiar figure caught my eye.

Daniel.

He was walking out of the pediatric ER, carrying a three- or four-year-old boy. Claire was walking right beside him, her eyes red and puffy.

The boy’s face was flushed, his head resting limply on Daniel's shoulder. Daniel was looking down at him, talking in a soft, gentle voice.

They didn't see me.

I stood rooted to the spot, the paper bag of vitamins suddenly feeling impossibly heavy.

So he did remember he had to come to the hospital today.

Just not for me.

"Natalie?"

Daniel suddenly turned his head. The color drained from his face the second he saw me.

He hurriedly handed the kid to Claire and practically sprinted over.

"What are you doing over here? Is your appointment done?"

"Yeah."

"Natalie, I didn't mean to skip it. It's just—"

The boy started wailing. "Daniel! It hurts..."

Claire hugged the kid, looking over with tear-filled eyes. "Daniel, Mason wants you to hold him."

Daniel stood there, torn.

The absurdity of the scene almost made me laugh.

"Go," I said flatly. "He needs you."

"Natalie, Mason spiked a sudden fever and passed out for a second. Claire couldn't handle it alone, that's why I—"

"Daniel, Mason threw up!" Claire shrieked.

The kid had puked all over himself, splashing Daniel's jacket. Instinct took over. Daniel spun around to tend to the boy.

I turned and walked away.

"Natalie!" he called out behind me.

I didn't look back.

Just as the elevator doors slid shut, I saw him rushing Mason toward the restrooms, Claire clinging tightly to his arm.

Like a real family.

Sitting in my car, I gripped the steering wheel, my fingers trembling.

It wasn't anger. Just a bitter, hollow kind of clarity.

My phone buzzed.

[Mason isn't doing well. I'll be home late.]

My face completely blank, I typed:

[Daniel, when you get back, we're discussing the divorce.]

My thumb hovered over the send button.

I deleted it. Retyped.

[Don't bother coming back.]

Send.

Then, I opened my contacts, found Laura Grant, and hit call.

"Ms. Grant, this is Natalie Reed."

"I want to file for divorce."