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“Can an ultrasound estimate how far along I am?” I asked quietly.
The nurse, Tara, paused. “Early scans can estimate gestational age, yes. Is everything okay?”
I stared at our wedding photo hanging on the wall. I used to think Lucas was safe.
“No,” I answered honestly. “But I need facts.”
“I’ll schedule you. You’ll receive a text confirmation with the appointment time and date, Maddie,” Tara replied.
That week, my world shrank quickly.
At work, Claire — the principal — closed her office door and rubbed her forehead.
“Maddie, I don’t want to get involved.”
“Then don’t.”
“Lucas’s mother called my sister. People are already talking.”
“But I didn’t do anything wrong.”
“I believe you,” Claire said too quickly. “But parents are whispering already, Maddie. I hate it, but it’s becoming a distraction.”
“So now I’m being punished over a rumor?”
“Maddie, I know. Just let things settle down. Take a few days. Focus on your baby.”
Breathing room meant unpaid leave and pitying looks.
That afternoon, the landlord from the house on Briar Lane called me.
Lucas and I had been trying to schedule a viewing there for weeks. All I could think about was the nursery filled with morning sunlight.
“Maddie?” the landlord said carefully. “I’m sorry, ma’am, but I’m canceling tomorrow’s showing.”
My hand tightened around the phone. “Did someone rent it already?”
“No. Your husband called. He said there’s instability happening right now.”
I closed my eyes slowly. “He said that?”
“He explained you two were separating and might not be in a position to move.”
I swallowed hard. “I found that house.”
“I understand,” the landlord replied awkwardly. “But I don’t want to get involved in domestic issues.”
After he hung up, I stood in the hallway of our damp little rental house staring at the room I already imagined as a nursery.
Lucas wasn’t only leaving me.
He was trying to close every door ahead of me too.
On the sixth day, Charlotte posted a photo online.
Lucas sat across from her at a rooftop restaurant.