Chapter 1

When my parents asked me to bless the baby my fiancé had with my best friend, Aaron was pulling out Naomi’s chair.

Her hand rested over her stomach.

The journal Aaron and I had written in together for three years—Five Years From Now—sat in front of her.

An ultrasound photo was tucked into its final page.

Sunday dinner had been going for ten minutes.

No one had even carved the roast chicken when my father set down his wineglass and said my name.

“Clara, don’t get upset.” He spoke carefully. “We all want to have a good conversation tonight.”

I stared at the photo and didn’t touch my food.

Naomi was wearing the dark green sweater I’d given her last Christmas.

She looked pale, but she wouldn’t meet my eyes.

Aaron finally spoke.

“We meant to tell you later.”

“Tell me what?” I asked.

His throat moved before he answered.

“Naomi is pregnant.”

My mother jumped in at once, her voice low, as if she were trying not to disturb the room.

“She’s four months along. The doctor says everything looks good.”

I looked at her.

“So this is a celebration?”

My father frowned.

“Don’t put it that way. Aaron and Naomi have been scared, too. They never wanted to hurt you.”

I gave a short laugh.

“Then they shouldn’t have slept together.”

Naomi’s shoulders tightened.

Aaron reached for her hand. She pulled away, but he left his hand on the table, close enough to hers.

That small distance made me sicker than any explanation could have.

I was supposed to marry Aaron in seven weeks.

The invitations had already gone out.

Last week, my mother had called to discuss the dinner menu. My father had even asked Aaron whether he wanted to use his old convertible on the wedding day.

Not one of them had told me they were preparing a different future for Aaron and Naomi.

“Clara,” my mother said, “didn’t you tell us last year that you weren’t ready to have children?”

I looked up.

She wouldn’t look at me.

I had written those words in the journal after Aaron and I got engaged.

I’d said I wanted us to get married first. I wanted to know Aaron would share the weight of a home with me before we talked about children.

At the time, he had held me and said he understood.

Now, those words had become proof that I didn’t deserve the life he wanted.

“I said I wasn’t ready yet.” I made myself say every word clearly. “I never said I didn’t want children.”

My father let out a breath.

“You’re thirty-five, Clara. Aaron has his own timeline, too. Naomi is willing to give him a family. You can’t blame them for moving forward because you hesitated.”

I looked at him.

He never used the word betrayal.

To him, Aaron and Naomi were simply moving forward.

And I was the one standing in their way.

Naomi finally looked up, her eyes wet.

“I never thought things would turn out like this,” she said. “At first, I was only there for Aaron. He said you two were always talking about the wedding, but never about what came after.”

“Stop talking,” I said.

She blinked.

I pushed back my chair. Its legs scraped across the floor.

My mother stood, too, reaching for me.

“Please don’t do this. The baby is innocent.”

“I know.” I stepped around her hand. “But you aren’t asking me not to hurt a baby. You’re asking me to applaud what you chose.”

Aaron rose from his chair.

“I never wanted you to find out like this.”

“Then when did you want me to find out?”

He had no answer.

I walked to Naomi and pulled the journal toward me.

She pressed her hand to the cover.

“Clara, that’s—”

“It’s mine.”

I opened it to the final page.

Under the ultrasound photo was a line in Aaron’s handwriting.

It was dated six months earlier.

The day of our third engagement anniversary.

He had written:

Naomi says she’s ready for the life Clara keeps putting off.

I closed the journal and held my fingers against its cover.

“You didn’t just find out you were having a baby.”

I looked at Aaron, then at my parents.

“You finally decided today was the day to let me know.”