Four Minute Phone Call Exposed My Husband and My Best Friend
She looked down at her coat, her hand resting on her pregnant stomach. I looked at her hand, thinking of the blue baby blanket we had talked about, and the nursery furniture Richard had bought with my credit card.
For years, I had imagined being an aunt to her children. I had pictured taking them to the park down the street, buying them books, holding them while they slept.
That child would be born in a few months, and I would never know his face. The cost of this truth was a quiet, empty space where that future used to be.
“Laura, please,” Monica said, her voice cracking. “Just enough for the deposit on a smaller place. For the baby.”
“No,” I said.
She stared at me, her defensive expression returning. She pulled her coat tighter around her shoulders and turned toward the street.
I watched her walk down the steep sidewalk of Queen Anne, her steps slow and heavy under the gray Seattle sky. She did not look back.
The house was cold when I unlocked the front door. The quiet inside felt different now, no longer filled with the anticipation of Richard’s footsteps or the false warmth of his voice.
