Photos.
One image stopped me cold.
Seven months ago.
Ethan’s hand resting on her pregnant belly.
The caption:
“Building our little future.”
Our little future.
While I covered mortgages…
while I worked double shifts…
while I postponed vacations and holidays…
he built another family.
Not a mistake.
Not a fling.
A second life.
At 9:12 p.m., he called.
“Flight got delayed,” he said casually. “Might land late.”
I stared at the photo.
Then I said:
“That’s strange, Ethan. Because France doesn’t usually deliver babies in Chicago.”
Silence.
Three full seconds.
Then:
