Kevin turned in his chair, phone still in his hand, and when his eyes landed on me, there was no visible shock. He did not look guilty or afraid. He looked annoyed, as though I had interrupted him during something trivial. He ended the call with a quick tap and leaned back in his chair.
“What is it,” he asked, his tone flat.
My hand trembled as I lifted the pregnancy test into his line of sight, and I forced myself to speak clearly despite the way my throat felt tight and dry.
“Kevin,” I said, “I am pregnant.”
For a brief moment, panic flickered across his face, sharp and unmistakable, before being replaced by something colder and more deliberate.
“That is not my problem,” he said as he stood up. “If anything, this makes things easier.”
I stared at him, trying to reconcile the man in front of me with the one I thought I had married.
“Easier,” I repeated. “How could this possibly be easier.”
He brushed past me and opened the bedroom closet, pulling out a suitcase with practiced efficiency, as though this decision had already been made long before this morning.
“You should start packing,” he said. “I am done. I am moving on.”
My chest tightened painfully.
“Who is she,” I asked.