Great. If only I had known about this a few hours ago, it would have been fine. I can’t believe I forgot I had a meeting tomorrow morning. What’s happening to my brain?

“I’ll be in my office,” Denise says. “Please send me a more appropriate draft as soon as you’ve completed it, then we’ll discuss if further changes need to be made.”

I shoot daggers with my eyes at Denise, but they bounce harmlessly off her back as she exits my office. Fine. I can fix this draft in fifteen minutes, then I’ll grab a taxi home. I’ll be late, but not too late.

I shoot a text to Sam: Denise making me fix something. Should be leaving within 15 minutes.

Sam replies almost instantly: What????? She’s going to be here soon! Get your butt back home!

Poor Sam. I can almost picture him freaking out. I write back: Really sorry. Start dinner without me. Should be back soon. I promise.

You better be.

And at the time, I really believe I will.

_____

When I stumble home over two hours later, I have a throbbing headache in my left temple. I fixed the draft for the meeting in fifteen minutes, sent it to Denise, but it was still unacceptable. So was the next draft. At one point, she gave me an exasperated look and said, “Honestly, Abigail, I feel like I’m talking to an intern.”

If it had taken even five minutes longer to fix the document, I swear I would have strangled her with my bare hands. She never treated me this way before I started trying to have a baby.

It feels like an icepick is jabbing me in the side of the head while I fumble in my purse for my keys. Whenever I get a headache, it’s always in my left temple. Why is that? Is it a sign of a tumor? Christ, where are my keys? Sam is going to kill me for being so late.

And then I hear it:

Laughter. Coming from inside the apartment.

My fingers make contact with my keyring. I yank it out and when I get the door open, I see Sam and Monica sitting together in the living room. They’ve got two empty plates on the coffee table, which means they ate in the living room, which Sam knows I hate because I’m worried about the floral-patterned couch getting stained. There’s a bottle of white wine open on the table that is half-full, and Sam’s got that flushed look he always gets when he’s had a bit too much to drink.

And Monica…