Chapter 2

My fingers tightened around the pregnancy report until the paper crumpled in my fist. Sloane had ridden in his passenger seat the day she got back, and now she was sitting in his office. What would come next?

His heart was already wavering, and he still blamed me for being paranoid.

I forced back the tears and walked out, nearly running into Sloane coming the other way. She didn't even bother hiding the smugness in her voice.

"Give it time. He'll come back to me soon enough."

Then the lights went out.

When I woke up, my belly felt hollow, and something inside my chest felt like it had been carved away. Rain streaked the window, just as it had on the night Adrian showed up at my door five years ago.

Only this time, he was already on his way back to her.

I braced myself against the wall and made my way slowly out the hospital entrance. Wind cut through my collar and I shivered. The anesthesia had worn off, and dull cramps rolled through my lower abdomen in waves, like the baby's last way of reminding me it had been there.

I turned on my phone and messages flooded in. One was from Mom. It read, "Happy birthday, sweetheart."

I'd forgotten that it was my birthday. For the past five years, Adrian had always remembered. This was the first year he forgot too.

My eyes burned. Then Adrian's name lit up the screen.

The moment I picked up, I could hear noise in the background. "It's Sloane's birthday today. Some old friends insisted on getting together, so I can't make it to the prenatal appointment. Be careful getting there on your own."

His tone was clipped, like he was trying to sound reluctant. Five years together, and it had taken me until that day to realize that he never meant what he said.

I wanted to tell him I'd already ended the pregnancy. But before I could get a single word out, Sloane's voice came through on his end.

"Adrian, hurry up. Everyone's waiting for you to cut the cake."

The line went dead. The screen dimmed and caught my reflection, as pale as paper. I let out a hollow laugh and slipped the phone into my pocket.

On the way home, I passed the bakery Adrian used to take me to. A beautiful strawberry cake sat in the window. I lingered for a second, then kept walking.

It was almost dark by the time I got home. I went to the bedroom to pack my things, though calling it "our" bedroom felt like a stretch.

The day I found out Sloane was his secretary, we'd had a massive fight, and he moved into the study that same night. I'd been sleeping in the guest room ever since—1,600 square feet split down the middle, with nothing between us but a hallway and everything falling apart.

I opened the closet. The clothes inside were divided by season, mine on the left, his on the right. I'd ironed those dress shirts more times than I could count.

From the early days of his company to now, I knew which shirt went where. Light blue for business dinners, white for client meetings, gray for late nights at the office, and never a single wrinkle at the collar or cuff.

I took my own clothes down, folded them, and packed them into boxes. Everything I owned fit into two suitcases.

When I finished, I sat on the couch and stared at three pieces of paper that no longer mattered. They were the prenatal report, the ultrasound, and the termination form I'd signed that morning. I ran my finger across the ultrasound, but it was just paper now.

I didn't know how long I sat there before I heard footsteps in the entryway. Instinctively, I flipped the papers over and pressed them facedown on the coffee table.

Adrian came in reeking of alcohol and rosemary. He saw me and stopped.

"Why are you still up? You're only two months along. You need to be more careful and stop staying up so late."

I lowered my eyes and stared at my hands, my nails digging into my palms hard enough to leave a dull ache. He didn't even know how far along I'd been. My baby had been three months along.

The termination form had that day's date stamped on it, printed clearly in black and white. But he hadn't even noticed.

I suddenly didn't want to say anything at all. He didn't care, and nothing I said would change that.

In his world, Sloane's scent was the one that couldn't be allowed to fade.