My husband said he was flying to Denver for work, so I went to my prenatal appointment alone. While waiting outside maternity triage, I saw him rushing down the hall with one arm around a heavily pregnant woman

me.

I stepped back.

“Don’t,” I said.

He stopped.

For five years, Adrian had been the calm one.

The man who packed lunches before I woke.

The man who remembered my late mother’s birthday and sent flowers to my sister.

The man who spent three evenings assembling our baby’s crib because the instructions were awful and he refused to surrender.

Under those hospital lights, he looked like a stranger.

“I was going to tell you,” he said.

I laughed once.

“You were going to tell me what?”

Maren suddenly gripped