Jesus, I’m terrible at picking men. I’m reminded painfully of that when Adam texts me that Lee is at his house. He’s weak. He’ll crumble like a dried autumn leaf. I wonder if he’s told her that we are going to get married. That I am going to adopt Aubrey. He’s so pathetic that I’m sure he has. I get in my Lexus and pull into traffic. I can take care of Lee.

Just like I took care of Sophie and Connor.

Even now, as I make my way to Adam’s, tears come when I think about the betrayal that set all this in motion. I’m a good person. I was doing everything that I could to be productive. I gave money to the humane society. I sponsored three kids in World Vision. I worked hard at my job. I only wanted one thing: a baby. God, why was I denied when I see so many kids come through the system who’ve been abused or abandoned? Jesus, help me. I honestly don’t get it. I did every single thing that the doctors told me. I might as well have been forced to walk down Westlake Avenue completely naked with a sign on my back that read “Barren.” That’s how humiliated I was by my inability to conceive.

And then Adam Warner comes to my office and drops a dirty bomb.

Connor has had a child with that whore Sophie.

When Adam left, I told Marcy that I wasn’t feeling well, and I drove to Green Lake and just sat there on a bench looking at the mallards and Muscovies, thinking. My mind was spinning so fast I know I wasn’t thinking straight. It was emotion driving a decision. I never, ever do that.

And yet that day I did. I knew that I wanted that backstabbing husband of mine gone. I wanted that bitch girlfriend of his gone too. When they were fucking each other, they were really fucking me. My legs were wide open, just letting them do whatever.

This was my fault. I knew it. I also knew that I could fix it. I sat there with those smelly ducks, imagining what it would feel like to grab one by the neck and choke the life out of it. I closed my eyes.

I thought it would feel good.

When I got home, I went to the kitchen calendar hanging next to the coffeemaker. I flipped its pages to see the best time. To see how long I’d need to pretend that all was well between us.