She must have bought this in Seattle—I knew the name of the boutique; one of the upscale baby stores Ella drooled over each time we walked past it. Did she get it before I sent her the divorce papers? Best guess was yes. Ella planned, prepared.

My heart ached because the divorce would have shocked her as much as it hurt—she had no time to consider alternatives or plan for anything. Just . . . bam! All those years together, over.

Which meant she was very, very angry.

Dammit. I couldn’t wait to ask.

I pulled out the tissue paper and gasped, hand hovering over the pink baby bonnet in the bag. On top of that lay a picture. A three-dimensional one that I’d seen with other’s children but not with Jeremiah. He was too old for this 3-D technology.

Already, I could see Ella’s triangle chin. Her sweet bow mouth.

I ran my fingertips over the photo, my breath caught in my chest. A girl. We were having a girl.

Footsteps pounded up the front walk, along with Jeremiah’s laughter. The front door burst open before I managed to stuff the picture back into the bag.

Jeremiah’s laugh ended midgasp, his eyes hardening as they landed on me.

“What are you doing here?” he demanded.

Dave and Marsha entered behind, eyes widening when they saw me, but my gaze settled on Ella, who stood behind her parents. Next to Philip. Well, I guess she’d moved quickly. Very quickly.

I gripped the handle of the bag and rocked back on my heels, unsure what to do next.

My gaze locked on Philip’s hand, which was resting on Ella’s shoulder. “What’s going on?”

“Oh, like you get to ask that question,” Jeremiah sneered.

My gaze switched back to my son.

“Jeremiah.” My voice held a warning note.

For the first time ever, my son ignored me as he swaggered closer, eyes narrowing. “What? You’re going to ground me? News flash. I live with Mom now, and that means not with you!”

His shoulder slammed into my arm as he strode past me, feet slapping up the steps toward his room. Moments later, the door crashed closed, followed moments later by the thud of a picture falling of the wall and the biting sound of breaking glass.

“Oh, dear.” Marsha put her hands to her rosy cheeks, eyes wide. “I better see what’s fallen.” She and Dave hurried into the house, but not until Dave shot me a look typically reserved for dog shit on a shoe.

I gripped the bag’s handles tighter, my shoulders tensing as I brought my eyes back around to Ella, who hovered in the doorway.