The Geometry of Three

I pressed myself against the cold tile wall, clamping both hands over my mouth as I held my breath.

Through the narrow opening beyond the corner, I watched Isaiah Cole, my husband—the man I'd loved for five years and been married to for three—carefully support Maren Reeves, my best friend of seven years.

The tenderness on his face was one I knew all too well.

Isaiah lowered his head and murmured something to her, then casually reached out and tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear.

Maren stared down at the report in her hand, her expression unreadable, but her other hand drifted instinctively to her still-flat stomach.

As they walked away, something compelled me to follow them, keeping my steps slow and quiet.

I trailed them all the way to the parking garage, where I watched Isaiah open the passenger door and place one hand against the roof of the car, shielding Maren's head as she climbed inside.

The black Maybach glided smoothly out of the hospital. Its taillights blurred into streaks of crimson before my eyes.

I stood alone in the vast underground garage, my entire body shaking uncontrollably.

It was early fall, but I felt as though I'd been plunged into freezing water. Cold sweat soaked through the back of my shirt.

My phone suddenly vibrated twice inside my purse, the sound jarring in the deathly silence.

With trembling fingers, I unlocked the screen. Two text messages appeared, one after the other.

The first was from Maren.

[Renee, are your cramps any better today? I sent you some heating patches. Remember to stay hydrated, okay? I'm not feeling great today, so I won't be coming to the office to keep you company. Love you!]

The second was from Isaiah.

[Babe, an important meeting came up, and I can't get away to pick you up from the hospital. Be good and take an Uber home. I'll bring you that Mont Blanc cake you love tonight to make it up to you.]

A violent wave of nausea surged up my throat.

I doubled over the nearest trash can and retched until there was almost nothing left in my stomach. Tears struck the concrete floor, leaving dark spots behind.

It was disgusting.

I had no idea how I was supposed to go home and face Isaiah. I had even less idea how I could return to the office and look Maren in the eye.

I felt like a spectacle stripped bare and abandoned in the middle of a crowded street.

So I fled the city center in a panic, took a cab straight to my parents' house, and requested an extended leave of absence from work.