In the stall she sat down on the toilet and unclenched, the rush of blood and tissue coming as almost a relief. She pulled out her cell phone and texted Hanna. “How long do miscarriages last?” The store closed in four hours. Would anyone come in searching for her? She thought about the little blond fitting-room girl, Marcia or Marta or Marika, who had asked Katriina her name when she went in to try on a pair of jeans and written “Catrina” on the whiteboard on the door. Katriina wondered whether it was her job to check the bathroom at the end of the night, whether she was meeting her boyfriend after work – maybe she was kind of bored with the relationship, all he ever wanted to do was order pizza and play Call of Duty – and if, distracted by her thoughts, she would just flick off the bathroom light without paying much attention to the closed stall door, without noticing a pair of sneakers mashed up against the base of the toilet. Maybe Katriina could stay in the store all night, curl up in a pair of fleece pyjama bottoms, go to sleep in a pile of clearance hoodies. Maybe she wouldn’t have to ever leave, maybe she would never have to tell Shawn about any of this.

“Will probably seem like forever,” Hanna texted back a minute later. “Are you in the Old Navy bathroom?” No one knew Katriina like Hanna, in this case her pathological need in times of stress to buy vast amounts of cheap, poorly made clothing. She heard a flush in the next stall and with her head resting between her knees watched a pair of brown ballet flats walk out the door without visiting the sink.

Her phone beeped again. “Buy wine. Go home.” Katriina balled up some tissue paper, stuck it in her crotch, and stood up. She tried not to look down, but of course she did, and was overwhelmed with a horrifying urge to scoop out the contents and take them home with her in her purse. But she was almost equally appalled by the thought of leaving it all there.

When she told Shawn about the miscarriage, that night after Tommy and Petey went to bed, he was so kind to her, such a perfect husband. He poured her a glass of wine, he brought her a heating pad, he rubbed her feet while telling her that it was fine, it was normal, these things happen all the time. It wasn’t her fault. Just a minor setback. They would try again. They watched a late-night talk show together – Katriina can’t remember which one – and Shawn kept glancing over at her during all the funny bits, to see if she was laughing, the way he used to back in high school when they first started dating. Making sure that they thought the same things were funny. Making sure she was having a good time.