Her stomach was a knot as she remembered Renee’s story about Russell and the kindergarten teacher. Breathing seemed impossible.

She could imagine it all too easily.

The other woman was blond and curvy, voluptuous, and definitely had an interesting career. An art collector perhaps? Her name was something sultry like Francesca or Alessandra, and she likely lived in a high-rise with a doorman who knew Ethan by name. Ethan and Francesca probably drank Veuve Clicquot before making love on a bear rug in front of a roaring fire while Kenny G played on the surround sound stereo.

The mental image was so ridiculous she should chuckle.

Instead…

She lunged for Ethan’s phone, typing in his passcode, which had always been her birthday: 09-15-90

But this time his phone didn’t unlock. Her lungs constricted. He’d changed his password.

It must be Francesca’s (or Alessandra’s) birthday now.

This was so freaking stupid. And insecure. And immature. And yet—

“What are you doing?” Ethan stood in the doorway of their bathroom, having already toweled off and changed into jeans and a crewneck. “Snooping?”

“I’m pregnant!” she blurted out, her heart racing. She hurled the word like a weapon or a talisman…she wasn’t sure which.

The color drained from Ethan’s face. He did not run to her side. He didn’t try to embrace her. Nor did he appear in any way thrilled.

In fact, his eyes darkened with visible alarm. “You’re joking.”

She shook her head, praying he’d figure out a way to pull his head from his ass in the next two seconds.

“How are you going to manage?” The words came out in a strained whisper.

“Me?” Her bottom lip trembled, a dam about to break. Was he serious? “What about you? What about us?”

“No. Shit. I didn’t mean it like that, Sade.” He quickly backtracked, though he still didn’t move so much as a muscle. “It’s just that every time I call you during the workday, you sound near tears. Sometimes I wonder if you’re on the verge of some kind of breakdown.”

She cradled her middle like she’d been sucker punched. It was one thing to feel the feelings. Another entirely for him to notice.

Notice and never check in.

“I mean, I know you’ve worked through the postpartum stuff, but you’re still not yourself.” Ethan was pacing now. “Two kids? I don’t see how we’ll cope without family help.”

“Are you serious right now? First, it wasn’t just postpartum stuff. It was horrible. I was on medication for over a year, remember? If anything I should be pissed as hell that you haven’t done a dish in this house since I quit breastfeeding.”

“Who puts the roof over our head?” He was shouting now. “Don’t act like I don’t contribute. And I don’t see why you don’t make a schedule. Plan better so you don’t get overwhelmed! You’re drowning! And it sucks to watch.”

“It’s not as if you’re tossing me a lifesaver. Do you know everyone in town pities me?” The words were thick with anger, resentment. “They think, ‘Poor Sadie, trying to juggle everything on her own while her husband is off in Boston all the time. She’s practically a single mother!’”