The Professors Regret Begging for Forgiveness After I Lost His Baby

The ninth button. I was sewing the ninth button back onto my husband's shirt when he fished a scrap of lace from the laundry pile and dangled it between two fingers.

"Did this shrink?" Thomas squinted at the fabric, turning it over.

The needle froze mid-stitch.

That pair was six months old. It hadn't changed.

When I said nothing, he scratched his head and shrugged. "Must have remembered wrong. Women's sizes are all over the place anyway."

Outside, the drying rack swayed in the breeze. Every pair of panties hanging there was identical—conservative cotton.

That scrap of lace wasn't mine.