But the last few months, with all the pictures and speculation about Simon flying around, proved difficult for us both, causing our relationship to pull taut—to the breaking point, apparently. The stress of those weeks after the first picture came out, and Simon’s subsequent brush-off, made me assume my irregular cycle was due to stress. I might not have known I was pregnant even now if I hadn’t been scheduled to see my OB/GYN for my annual exam two weeks ago. She’d whisked me straight into the CVS testing and brought me back for a sonogram just days later, her happy smile telling me as much as her words.

This baby—finally—was healthy. I still couldn’t believe how far along I was.

That’s why I’d purchased the tickets to Atlanta, and I’d found the cutest, pink cashmere infant dress and bonnet—that was priced at a ridiculous amount for the mere weeks the baby would wear it—and I’d bought the darling outfit, planning to wrap it up with the sonogram for Simon’s main present.

The gift lay at the bottom of my large roll-on, no doubt crushed by my winter boots and thick cable-knit sweaters necessary for the trip to my parent’s getaway in Bath. Not unlike my dreams for bringing my family back together.

Unable to partake in a glass of wine to calm my raging emotions and help me relax, I idly ran my hand over Jeremiah’s thick, dark hair, smoothing the many cowlicks. He looked so much like Simon. Each time I turned, saw the back of his dark head, the set of his shoulders, my heart ached for the destruction of my marriage I’d never seen coming.

Sure, Simon traveled often, but that was for logistical reasons. I had a job; Jeremiah had school and soccer, friends and play dates. We’d planned to spend Christmas together at my parents’ house, take a trip to Hawaii for spring break—which coincided with our fifteenth wedding anniversary. Simon even curtailed some of his touring options next summer so that Jeremiah and I could spend as much time with him as possible.

In the interim, single parenting remained difficult, and, no, I didn’t appreciate the constancy of Simon’s travel schedule. But up until last week, I hadn’t worried about Simon leaving me.

More fool I.

I shifted, trying to get more comfortable. Trying, without success, to ease the burning ache in my stomach and the roiling, noxious poison of my heartache.

Jeremiah lifted his head and blinked at me, his eyes bleary. Whatever he saw in my face made him sit up and grab my hand. He’d never been much of a cuddler, always a robust ball of energy.

“We’re going to be okay, Mom. Really. I talked with Mason about this.”

I closed my gritty eyes with a wince. “You’d said.”