The Shape of a Missing Heart

I had just finished burying my cat, and on the way home, I swung by the print store to make two copies of the divorce papers.

No sooner had I walked through the door than the nanny was at my side, whispering, "Mrs. Yates, Mr. Yates has been slaving away in the kitchen all morning. Looks like he's gearing up to make amends. He still cares deeply for you."

All I managed was a forced, icy smile as I clutched the divorce papers and headed for the kitchen.

Alan Yates was there, tidying up the aftermath of his cooking spree. The kitchen looked like a culinary warzone.

He paused when he saw me, apron in hand, and said, "I'll go change. Could you finish packing this up? Help yourself to whatever's on the table. We'll take the meal to Jessica together in a bit."

All the fuss was for Jessica Foster's sake.

Typical Alan, never the type to whip up an apology meal for me.

I blocked his path as he tried to breeze past, divorce papers in hand. "Sign this."

He glanced at me, annoyance creasing his brow, and scribbled his signature on the last page.

He shoved the papers back at me and said without missing a step, "Make it quick. I'll be down in two."

I let out a bitter laugh. With his signature dry, my exit was overdue.

I was reaching for the door when Alan, then dressed, came thundering down the stairs.

He stopped short at the sight of me, idle by the entrance, his carefully prepared lunchbox nowhere in sight. His temper flared.

"Ruby, I'm running around like a headless chicken here, and you can't even bag a lunchbox? What are you doing, standing there like you've lost your mind?

"Jessica's out there busting her back on the site, and you can't even manage a simple task?"

He dashed into the kitchen, packed the lunchbox in record time, and thrust it into my arms as he passed by.

The heat from the lunchbox jolted me, but before I could even flinch, he had yanked me out the door and tossed me into the car. With a slam on the gas, we were off like a shot.

At the construction site, there was Alan, tenderly wiping Jessica's brow and fanning her like she was royalty. They were the picture of a devoted couple, and I, his actual wife, watched with a twinge of jealousy.

Alan had to drag me along, probably just to twist the knife a little deeper. We were on the brink of splitting up, and frankly, I was past caring.

"Watch out!"

The shout came out of nowhere. Alan, quick as lightning, shoved me to the side. I hit the ground just in time to see Jessica leap into his arms.

The rebar crashed down right where we had been standing, sending up a plume of dust.

I scrambled to my feet and ran over.

Alan gently moved Jessica aside, his face a mask of terror as he checked her stomach. "My child!"

I approached, numb, my eyes glued to Jessica's belly.

"You're... You're having a kid?"

Jessica was pregnant? Did Alan really love her enough to get her pregnant?