“I don’t have to tell you that your behavior last night was very upsetting to Sam, Abby.” She clucks her tongue against the roof of her mouth. “Searching through his phone? Not very classy.”

I lift my chin. “I had just cause.”

She’s quiet for a moment. “Yes,” she finally says. “I suppose you did.”

Her answer doesn’t make me feel any better. “What do you mean by that?”

“I think you know the answer to that,” she says quietly.

I raise my eyes. “What?”

“Abby,” she says. “It’s over.”

I stare at her. “Excuse me?”

“You and Sam. Your marriage. It’s over.”

The orange juice and eggs in my stomach threaten to come back up. “What are you talking about?”

“Think about it, Abby.” She gives me a pitying look. “You’re a mess. Look at you. You’re a drug addict. You’re about to be arrested for murder.” She shakes her head. “Sam and I feel it would be best for you to find another place to live, so we could live here and take care of the baby.”

With those words, she puts her hand protectively on her belly. That was the baby I was supposed to raise with Sam. Now he’ll still raise the child, but I’ll be out of the picture.

“I…” I look down at my empty plate, feeling ill. “I’d like to hear it from him.”

“Sam doesn’t have the heart to tell you. This is very difficult for him.”

“Oh, really?”

She snorts. “Honestly, you never should have been with him in the first place. You’re hardly even attractive, and intellectually—well, there’s no comparison. You don’t know real numbers from the Real Housewives of Orange County.”

Yes, I do. I know what real numbers are. They’re all numbers that are… well, real. Like, not imaginary.

I better not say that though. I could be wrong.

“Sam married you for money,” she says. “Your trust fund. Pure and simple. And now you’ve outlived your usefulness.”

Is she right? Did Sam really just marry me for my money? I wouldn’t have believed it if someone told me that a year ago. But now…

There’s a buzzing sensation in the back of my skull. I shake my head to clear it, but it doesn’t go away. I look at Monica, and for a second, I see two of her. But then when I blink, she becomes one again. I rub my face.

Monica frowns. “Are you okay?”

“I…” I squeeze my eyes shut, then open them again. “I feel sort of… dizzy.”

She looks down at the plate of eggs in front of me, then she leans back in her seat to glance into the kitchen. She calls out, “Was it in the eggs?”