Mark tightly grips his phone. He looks away briefly before meeting her eyes again. “Do you want to have children with me?” The last two words come out as a harsh whisper as if he had to force them past his lips.

Shove them over a cliff is more like it.

Joy looks down at her keyboard, scared to answer. Mark had been right. Her venture would take precedence over family planning and Joy can’t deny that she intentionally let it. But that doesn’t explain why he’s looking at her as though she’s betrayed him. She puts down the pen so that she doesn’t click it madly.

“I want kids, Joy. I want them with you. But . . .”

He opens his Facebook app and brings up her profile. He slides the phone across the table. She peers at the screen and her stomach sours. Dead center is her relationship status. It’s complicated.

Her gaze darts to his face, her expression instantly apologetic.

She forgot to change her status back to married. And then just plain forgot. She hasn’t posted anything since that night out with Taryn. She hasn’t even looked at her profile in months, and avoided social media.

“I can explain—” she starts, feeling horrible that she could be that neglectful of his feelings and disrespectful of their marriage.

“Steve showed me,” he interrupts. Steve worked at Larson’s. He worked out with Mark. They’ve gone to dinner with Steve and his wife, Rachel, several times. Joy friended them both on Facebook several years ago.

“We’re at the gym, I’m leg pressing six-fifty, and out of the blue he asks if we’re getting a divorce.”

“I changed that a long time ago.”

“When?” he snapped.

“That night I went out with Taryn, after I quit my job. I was drunk. It was stupid. I’m sorry. Nobody looks at those statuses anyway.”

“Steve did.” He tosses the phone onto the table and shoots to his feet. He paces the kitchen, hands on waist. “This wouldn’t be a big deal if this was the first time this happened.”

“First time what happened?” She’d changed her relationship status only once.

He stops in front of her. “You don’t voluntarily share what you’re feeling about anything. I have to pry it out of you. You didn’t tell me you hated your job before you quit. You didn’t tell me you changed your mind about when we’d start trying for a baby. You’d had your IUD removed for an entire month before you said anything to me. You still won’t talk to me about your sister. You never told me either that Surfari Soaps had been a dream since you were a kid. I always thought Vintage Chic was your dream job.