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se
rtility clinic, feeling like a prisoner awaiting a verdict. The air, a
hoto of Jase and me in front of Niagara Falls. He was still smiling ba
felt loose, just like our three-year marriage. I kept t
ce wearing that professional, sympathetic sm
desk. "Alyse, I'm so sorry," he said, his voic
a mute button. His lips were moving, but I couldn't hear a
all our money, all my dignity, had b
ezed out a smile. "Thank you, Doctor. I know you d
ike a ghost. The bright hallw
pressing on my chest. I pulled out my phone, my thumb hovering over
ith an Instagram notification.
d into view: two champagne flutes clinking elegantly
"Celebrating our
f the picture-on the man's ha
atek Philippe, rose gold case
t my bakery's entire profit from the first half of
the watch was resting intimate
urged through me. I bolted
g, but nothing came up except the
e and hollow eyes. Was that me? A failure at fertili
ssage from Jase, arriving a seco
"Sienna's pregnant. We nee
inning into a vicious
rushing emptiness, as if the wo
st the cold partition, and a broke
agram profile. She had
bbs's fu
ays ago. She was in a tight dress, her hand
. I was the only one, th
p, wiped my tears, and wa
clinic's main entrance, letting the
didn't need an explanation. I n
river the address of the priv
a, called. I didn't answer.
. Now, I was going to pick up the pieces
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