“You two got divorced.”
“Eight months ago.”
“And you’re pregnant?”
“Nine weeks.”
He rubbed his jaw.
I couldn’t blame him.
It sounded like a ridiculous television plot.
Unfortunately, the positive pregnancy test sitting inside my bathroom cabinet was real.
In June, Frank had come to the house with flowers.
He apologized for the affair.
Said he was lonely.
Said he’d started counseling.
He cried.
I hadn’t seen that man cry since his mother died.
For one evening, I believed there might still be something worth saving.
The next morning, he went back to Columbus.
Three days later, I discovered he’d been asking a realtor about my property.
That was when I finally understood.
His apology hadn’t necessarily been love.
It might have been another negotiation.
I showed Graham the message Frank had sent after learning about the pregnancy.
We need to settle the property situation before this becomes public.
