Chapter 4

I went to the hospital for a full checkup.

The doctor studied the report, his brow furrowing.

"Ms. Sandy, your situation..."

"Just tell me straight."

"Endometriosis. Severe decline in ovarian function."

He adjusted his glasses. "The likelihood of natural conception is... close to zero."

I held the report. The paper edge dug into my palm.

"Is it from the work environment?"

"Prolonged high-intensity work, chronic stress, combined with the climate out west..." He paused. "You're still young. If you start treatment now, there may still be a chance."

I walked out of the exam room. The hallway was lined with pregnant women.

They sat rubbing their bellies, their faces soft with happiness.

One husband crouched down and pressed his ear to his wife's stomach, listening for movement.

I turned sideways and slipped past them, pushed open the door to the stairwell.

The stairwell was empty. I crouched down and buried my face in my knees.

Don't cry. Crying means losing.

Three days later — the company's annual gala.

I didn't want to go, but Helen said, "You've been here long enough. Skipping would look bad."

I put on a black dress and stood in the corner of the venue.

The lights were bright. The music was loud.

Harris walked in with Ismael on his arm. Everyone swarmed toward them.

"Congratulations, you two!"

"You're so lucky!"

Ismael smiled and said her thank-yous, one hand resting protectively over her stomach the whole time.

Harris had his arm around her waist, looking down at her with an expression so tender it was almost unbearable to watch.

Someone spotted me and gave a subtle tilt of their chin.

The room went quiet for a beat, then picked right back up.

Ismael made her way over to me, belly first. "Sandy. Long time."

I held up my champagne. "Congratulations."

"Thanks." She touched her stomach. "Might be a girl. Harris is over the moon — says she'll look just like me."

She looked at me, then leaned in and dropped her voice.

"You know what Harris told me? He said if he hadn't gotten you transferred back then, he would've been torn for a lot longer."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"It means," she smiled — warm, bright, practiced — "thank you for stepping aside when you did. We wouldn't have any of this without you."

My hand was shaking. Champagne splashed onto my dress.

"Ismael," I said, meeting her eyes.

"Do you know that when you were pregnant with your first child, I was on a construction site out west in negative-thirty-degree weather, running a fever of a hundred and four, nearly dying?"

She blinked. "So?"

"I called Harris seventeen times. Not one answer."

"That was our anniversary." She smiled. "He was with me picking out my wedding gown."

I breathed in slowly.

She added: "Chanel Haute Couture. Limited edition. The one with the pearl embroidery at the waist."

I had tried on that gown. Five years ago.

Harris had said: "When we get married, we're buying that one."

Turns out he didn't mean we.

I set down my glass and turned to leave.

Harris was standing right behind me. I don't know when he'd gotten there.

He looked at me, his expression unreadable. "Sandy..."

"Don't say my name." I said. "It makes me sick."

I walked out of the banquet hall. Rain was falling outside.

I stood under the overhang and watched the downpour blur the city into nothing.

Footsteps behind me. Harris had followed me out.

He was holding an umbrella. He held it out to me. "Take it. You'll catch a cold."

"Why do you care?"

He was quiet for a moment. "I know you hate me."

"I don't hate you." I said. "I just think I wasted five years on a man who wasn't worth a day."

"Those five years—"

"Those five years," I cut him off,

"I worked sixteen-hour days in the desert. My period stopped for three months. My hair fell out in clumps."

"I pushed through it because I told myself: hold on, get home, and you'll be married."

His face went pale.

"And you," I almost laughed, "spent those five years getting married, having a kid, and now you're on your second."

"I'm sorry."

"Sorry fixes what, exactly?"

I stared at him. "Harris, I can't even work up the energy to hate you properly. You just make me feel like a joke."

The rain got heavier.

He tilted the umbrella toward me.

I pushed his hand away, stepped into the rain. The cold hit me all at once, soaking through everything.