Maya went quiet. She knew everything I’d been through with Alex.
“What about the baby?” she asked softly.
I touched my stomach and the tears finally came.
“I don’t know,” I sobbed. “I really don’t know.”
I heard Maya sigh on the other end.
“Send me your address. I’m coming over tomorrow. Tonight, lock your door. If anything feels wrong, you call 911 immediately. You hear me?”
After hanging up, I sent her the address and went into the bathroom. The woman in the mirror had red, swollen eyes and smeared makeup, but her mouth was set in a stubborn line. I washed my face and stared at my reflection. Look at you, Chloe Miller. Twenty-nine years old, pregnant by your ex, jilted for the third time, and married to a stranger in a fit of panic. Could life get any messier? My phone screen lit up. My mom. I watched her name flash, unable to find the courage to answer. Finally, I sent a text.
“Mom, I’m staying at Maya’s tonight. I’ll explain tomorrow. I’m okay. Don’t worry.”
After sending it, I turned off my phone and burrowed into the strange bedding. It smelled clean, like sunshine, but it was cold. Outside was the sprawling Denver night. A million lights, and not a single one felt like it belonged to me. No, maybe one did now. The lamp in the living room was still on, a thin sliver of light seeping under the door. The man named Leo, my legal husband, was out there, a stranger. I closed my eyes, today’s events replaying like a movie. Alex’s careless text. Brenda’s pitying gaze. The resolve in Leo’s voice when he said okay. The thud of the official seal. Alex’s panic on the phone. Did I do the right thing? I had no idea. But I knew that if I had to choose again, I would still walk into that office and sign my name, because some pain can only be covered by a greater pain. Some despair can only be broken by a more desperate act. Sleep finally came. Just before I drifted off, I heard faint footsteps in the living room, the sound of water running and a light switch clicking off. Then silence. This long, absurd, life-altering day was finally over.
Sunlight sliced through the blinds, striping my face. I opened my eyes, disoriented for a few seconds. Unfamiliar ceiling. Unfamiliar room. The faint scent of cedar in the air. Then the memories flooded back. City hall. The marriage certificate. Leo. And the baby in my belly whose fate was still unknown. I shot up, my hand instinctively going to my stomach. I could hear soft movements from the living room. Taking a deep breath, I opened the door. Leo was already up, dressed in a simple white T-shirt and gray sweatpants, making coffee in the kitchen. The morning light framed his silhouette, making him seem more real than last night.
“Morning,” he said, glancing over his shoulder.
His tone was as casual as a roommate’s.
“Morning,” I replied, standing awkwardly in the middle of the room.
On the coffee table, our two marriage certificates sat side by side, their official seals a glaring red.
“Coffee or milk?” he asked.
“Milk, please. Thanks. I shouldn’t have caffeine right now.”
He poured me a glass. The microwave dinged, and he took out two toasted breakfast sandwiches.
“It’s not much, but it’s what I usually have.”
We sat on opposite sides of his small dining table, the silence so thick you could cut it with a knife.
“Sleep okay?” he asked, trying to make conversation.
“Fine,” I lied. I’d barely slept. “You?”
“The couch is a little short,” he said, rubbing his neck.
Silence fell again. We were like two strangers forced to share a table at a crowded café. My phone, now on, buzzed incessantly. Dozens of missed calls, mostly from Alex and my mom. Maya had sent a few texts.
“Awake yet? I’ll be there around ten. Don’t be scared. I got you.”
My eyes stung. I took a big gulp of milk.
“What’s your plan for today?” Leo asked.
“Go to the office. Can’t just not show up.”
“I’ll give you a ride.”
“You don’t have to. I can get an Uber.”
“It’s on my way,” he said, his tone leaving no room for argument. “My office is downtown too.”
He picked up the marriage certificates from the coffee table and handed one to me.
“You should keep this.”
I took the thin document. It felt as heavy as a brick. In the photo, we sat side by side with enough space between us for another person.
We left the apartment, rode the elevator down in silence. The building was quiet except for an old man walking his dog in the courtyard. We walked a few feet apart. His black SUV was in its designated spot. I hesitated for a second, then got into the passenger seat. The car was spotless, no clutter. He expertly backed out and merged into the morning rush-hour traffic, a slow-moving river of steel. The radio played soft jazz, doing nothing to ease the tension.
“So, about…” we both started at the same time.
“You first,” he said.
“How is your mom?” I asked.
His fingers tightened on the steering wheel.
“It’s terminal. The doctors say she doesn’t have much time.”
“I’m sorry,” I said.
“Why are you sorry? If it weren’t for this, you wouldn’t have… I made my choice,” he cut himself off. “What about you? What are you going to do?”
I knew he was asking about the baby.
“I haven’t decided yet,” I said, watching the city streets fly by.
“Do you need me to do anything?” he asked, the words sounding difficult.
“No.”
