When I get up, Sam isn’t in the bed anymore. He didn’t sleep on the couch or anything, but he slept as far on his side of the bed as possible without being in an entirely different bed. I’ve never fought like this with him in the entire decade we’ve known each other. It’s depressing.

I stumble out of bed and hit the bathroom. When I see myself in the mirror over the sink, I almost gasp. I look awful. My hair has that Bride of Frankenstein look it always gets when I’ve slept too long, and there are a few new gray hairs that weren’t there the last time I looked at myself. There are deep purple circles under my eyes and my cheeks are hollowed out. Honestly, if someone held up a photo of a woman who looked like me and said she was a meth addict, I’d believe it. No wonder Sam was suspicious.

I forgo a shower because I’m suddenly starving. I pad out to the kitchen to get some food… and stop short at the sight of the couple sitting on my couch.

Sam and Monica.

What is she doing here?

“You’re awake,” Sam notes, a clearly forced smile on his lips.

Sam is dressed for work, wearing a crisp white shirt with a tie, and he’s clean-shaven. Even though he might not be wearing Prada or Armani, he looks very good right now. This is the version of Dr. Adler that makes all the undergrad girls fall in love with him. Monica is wearing a blue maternity dress that shows off her substantial cleavage, and her hair looks luscious and silky. The two of them are a really attractive couple. I think of the reflection of myself in the bathroom mirror and wince. Also, I’m wearing pajama shorts and an oversized T-shirt, neither of which is doing me any favors.

“Um, what’s going on?” I say.

“Can you sit down for a minute, Abby?” Sam says.

I finger the rat’s nest on my head. “Can I shower first?”

“No, I’ve got to get to work, and we really need to talk to you.” His brown eyes meet mine, but the usual affection is absent. “This won’t take long.”

I don’t know what they have to say to me, but it’s clearly nothing good. Still, I settle down in the armchair across from them. Monica crosses her legs, smiling kindly at me. I want to punch her in the face.

“Monica and I had a long discussion yesterday,” Sam begins. Ha, I knew he smelled like her perfume! What the hell was that woman doing with my husband the whole evening? “And she has some very valid concerns.”

“Concerns?” I echo.

He glances at Monica, then plows forward. “She’s worried about the adoption, given your recent problems with… you know, drugs.”