By the time night fell, we were standing by the river. Fireworks shot up into the sky, bursting into shapes and letters. Bright red sparks spelled out I LOVE YOU. It should’ve been breathtaking. It should’ve felt like a dream.
“Do you like it?” he whispered against my hair, wrapping his arms tight around me from behind. “I planned everything. Just for you.”
I stared at the colors blazing in the dark. For a second, I almost slipped back into the past—the early days, when his love felt so big it filled every room, when I thought I was the happiest woman alive. But then my hand drifted to my belly, flat and empty, and it all cracked apart.
He felt me stiffen. His arms loosened. “Rosie… what’s wrong?” He turned me around, holding my face, “You’ve been so quiet lately. I’m scared for you.”
His thumb brushed my cheek, “Maybe you should see someone. A therapist. Pregnancy depression happens, you know. You don’t have to handle it alone. Tell me what’s on your mind. I’ll listen.”
I stared into those warm, lying eyes. Eyes that had carried another woman’s name while looking at me. “If I tell you something… will you be honest with me? Completely honest?”