HE BROUGHT HIS MISTRESS HOME—THEN LEFT HIS PREGNANT WIFE ON THE STAIRS FOR ELEVEN MINUTES

Alex showed up the next afternoon carrying white roses. There were twelve, tied with a silver ribbon. I knew the price because the flower shop tag was still hanging off a stem.

"Happy anniversary," he said.

"Yesterday was our anniversary."

He looked at the flowers. "I know. I thought maybe—"

"You thought flowers would fix it?"

"I didn't say that."

He came inside anyway. The house smelled of detergent and the chicken I had burned for lunch. Our wedding photo was still on the mantel, only because neither of us had wanted to move it first.

Alex set down the roses beside a black folder.

"My lawyer prepared the agreement. It's straightforward."

"Your lawyer?"

"We can both move on faster if we don't fight over every spoon."

I wanted to throw the flowers at him. Instead I asked whether Paige knew about our first baby.

He glanced at the mantel. "Why does that matter now?"

I waited for an answer. He picked up the folder.

The proposed divorce settlement assigned the house to Alex, split the remaining savings, and called the forty-two-thousand-dollar transfers a joint expense. A page near the back said neither party knew of any expected children from the marriage.

I looked up. "This part is wrong."

"Which part?"

My mouth went dry. The kitchen clock ticked three times.

I could have told him. The words were right there. Instead, I asked, "Can I have five minutes?"

"Take an hour. I have another appointment."

I stared at him. That appointment, I later learned, was a meeting with a wedding planner.

I signed the receipt acknowledging I'd received the packet. I also initialed the page about the money, because I wanted the conversation to end and didn't understand how the pages worked together. A stupid, avoidable mistake. Nia had warned me not to sign anything without her.

Alex held out his hand. "That's all?"

"That's not an agreement," I said. "That's proof you gave it to me."

He read the page again and flushed. "Fine."

I put the white roses in the trash without water. An hour later, I took them out. It was the kind of petty, humiliating thing grief makes you do.

That night Laura found me on the kitchen floor trying to unpick the silver ribbon from the white gift box. I had a doctor's appointment for Friday. I was afraid to go alone.

"You're telling him about the baby," she said.

"Not until I know everything's okay."

She sat beside me. "You can't keep waiting for a perfect minute."

The doorbell rang.

On the security screen, Paige stood under our porch light, holding an ivory envelope.