Chapter 1: The Test

My hand fumbled past her peppermint gum and the travel-size sanitizer, and then I froze. There it was: a pregnancy test, its faint pink lines staring back at me like a dare. For a second, I wondered if exhaustion was playing tricks on me—three days gone on a Chicago work trip, running on nothing but airport coffee and stale peanuts—but the lines were real. Clear. We always used protection. Always. The air in the kitchen suddenly felt thin, and I found myself holding my breath, chest tight and cold. I kept staring, mind racing, searching for any logical explanation and coming up empty.

Suddenly, I could almost see a flood of snarky online comments scrolling past my vision, like a TikTok comment section come to life:

*Bro, she already moved on—side guy’s just a speed bump.*

*Can you blame her? High school sweetheart’s back in the picture. Of course she fell for him again.*

*If only they’d gotten together sooner, the other dude wouldn’t stand a chance. Classic missed connection.*

*Dude’s about to get the Jerry Springer treatment.*

I stood there, stunned, the purse strap digging into my palm. Everything around me went muffled, like I was underwater. The invisible laughter of strangers echoed in my head, their judgment louder than the old fridge humming in the corner. The hardwood creaked under my feet, but I just stayed frozen—silent, numb.

Lillian had been so distant lately. Her laughter used to ring through our kitchen on Saturday mornings, bright and sweet as the scent of coffee and cinnamon rolls. Now, every conversation felt like it came with a delay, filtered through some invisible wall of politeness and fatigue. She moved through our life like a guest, not a partner. I could barely remember the last time she’d reached for my hand or kissed me at the door. The ache in my chest settled deep, heavy as a Midwest winter settling over the yard.

Since that’s how it is, let’s just get a divorce.