“Abigail,” she says sharply, folding her slim arms across her chest. “I informed you that you were welcome to take a personal day. But if you are going to be at work, please don’t disrupt the entire staff.”

“Abby’s upset!” Jan says. “We were trying to cheer her up.”

“Actually, there’s no need,” I say quickly. “I’m completely fine. Sorry, Denise. I’ll just… be in my office.”

Thanks to Denise, I’m able to escape without any more sympathetic gazes or hugs. I slip into my office, slamming the door shut behind me. Finally, I’m in my safe haven.

Except the entire corner of my office is littered with presents from the baby shower.

At least they had the good sense not to give me the diaper cake. But why would they think I want to look at this giant stack of gifts, each one covered in a different shade of pastel wrapping paper? I don’t have to open them to know they’re filled with tiny clothes and bibs and rattles. For a baby we won’t be getting.

I pick up the present from the top of the pile. It’s wrapped in blue paper, which has little teddy bears, baseball bats, and basketballs on it, interspersed with the words “IT’S A BOY.” I glance at the card and see that it’s from my ex-assistant Gertie, who couldn’t make the shower yesterday because she was having a second surgery on her broken hip. I’m sure the box contains something tiny and cute that will break my heart.

At the time, I thought it was so sweet of her to send a gift—now I wish she hadn’t bothered. I wish none of them had bothered.

And now I have to figure out how to sell diapers. Wonderful.

I settle into my ergonomic leather armchair. I was so thrilled the day I got my own office—the luxurious chair was just icing on the cake. Now? It doesn’t matter. I’d give it all up if only Janelle would change her mind back.

I try to put those thoughts aside as I check the messages on my phone. My mother called my office line last night, after I sent her call on my cell phone to voicemail. She always calls on Wednesday nights—it’s between her book club night and her ballroom dancing night. But I couldn’t bear to talk to her. My mother is not the comforting type, and she was never in favor of adoption. It was her opinion that if Sam and I couldn’t conceive, we were better off childless. Someone else’s child—someone else’s problems. I didn’t want her to tell me about how I was better off.