“You’re really going to sit there and say it was all my fault? Yes, I wasn’t honest with you, but Jesus Christ, Becca, you’re the ultimate liar.”

Becca hesitated before responding. “I lied? What the hell are you talking about?”

“About the last miscarriage. You went through that all alone. You got pregnant with our child, you lost it, and you never said a word to me.”

Everything went quiet. All Becca could hear was the pounding of her heart. How did he know? The only people she ever told were the hospital staff. For two and a half months, she carried that baby, feeling her body change, feeling the pressure in her belly, thinking if she didn’t say the words “I’m pregnant” out loud, the end result might somehow be different. That this one might survive. Christian was at work when the bleeding started. Becca drove straight to the ER, the doctors confirming what Becca already knew. Her pregnancy wasn’t “viable.” Her baby, their baby, was dead. She couldn’t tell him then. What was the point?

“How did you—”

“You thought I wasn’t paying attention? That I was so stupid or selfish I wouldn’t notice? The tiredness, the nausea, your mood swings, I clocked them all. Each day, I told myself, today is the day she’s going to tell me. When you didn’t, when you went through that loss alone, it broke me. I imagined our lives if we stayed together, that quiet desperation, both of us gripping on so tightly until we ruined each other.”

“So, you cheated? You broke all your promises and bailed,” Becca said.” The pain of his betrayal came roaring back. “No. I can’t… I can’t do this. Not now,” Becca said. She climbed out of the car, racing inside, her home shrouded in darkness. She paused, the familiar aroma of her mother’s famous albondigas, a traditional Mexican meatball soup, filling the air. Virginia had been here and she’d cooked for her, the way she used to do when Becca was young.

The silence was deafening. No Ash. No loud music or blaring TV. None of her laughter ringing out as she tossed Freud’s toy, the dog happily barking. She remembered her father’s text. He wanted her to come home, but her mother must have known she wouldn’t. It was less than a five-minute drive so she’d come here and made this food. For a second, Becca considered driving over to her parents’ house, crawling back into the old twin bed with Freud, the walls covered with family photos from a happier time when Robbie was still alive. Virginia would hover around her, peppering her with endless questions about Ash. Becca would have to lie to them, remembering her promise to Wishard to keep what she learned a secret. No. She was better off here.