Rhys and Emily were walking side by side, carrying grocery bags and a cake box. Talking and laughing. Rhys was beaming—a grin so wide you'd think he'd won the lottery.
Fueled by fresh rage, I deliberately dialed his number one last time.
Through the window, I watched him. He felt the vibration, glanced at the screen, frowned, and immediately silenced the call before shoving the phone deep into his pocket.
Beside him, Emily shivered in the cold wind, shrinking into her coat.
Without missing a beat, Rhys unwound his scarf and gently draped it around her neck, adjusting it with sickening care.
My vision blurred with fresh tears.
That scarf.
Grey wool. Last month, he had begged me to knit it for him. He'd told me his colleagues were showing off their gifts, and he wanted to wear a symbol of his wife's love.
Now, that symbol was keeping another woman warm while I went to deliver his child alone.
It took me three days just to choose the color. Half a month to knit that intricate pattern. My fingers were raw, pricked a dozen times, but I hadn't minded.
It had all seemed worth it—imagining him holding it, shouting his excitement, vowing no one else would ever touch it.