Two Heartbeats
He was standing in the examination room holding an expensive espresso, acting as though nothing in the world could disturb his perfect, arrogant calm. I had not slept in four days. David didn’t know that.
Then again, there were countless things he no longer knew about me. Knowing someone requires attention, and my husband had stopped giving me that long before I understood exactly whose bed his attention had wandered into. The appointment with Dr.
Sutton was supposed to be simple. Quick. A solitary confirmation of the life growing inside me, a life I had discovered on a plastic stick just seventy two hours after David packed a suitcase and walked out our front door.
But David had insisted on coming. And he hadn’t come alone. He walked into the sterile white room at Oakwood Women’s Clinic followed closely by a shadow drenched in expensive perfume.
Peyton. The woman who had been wearing my husband’s jacket in the photo he so casually posted online. The woman he now called his truth, after accusing me of the most vile betrayal he could imagine.
David didn’t just bring his mistress to my ultrasound appointment. He brought a sleek black leather folder. Let’s make this quick, Lauren, he said, his voice stripped of any warmth I’d loved for seven years.
He tossed the folder onto the metal tray beside my bed, and the heavy thud echoed through the quiet room. I have meetings at noon. I stared at the leather.
What is that, I asked. Peyton stepped forward, her manicured hand resting on David’s arm, and smiled, a sweet, venomous curve of her lips. It’s the final divorce decree, sweetie.
And a waiver of assets. My breath caught. A cold dread coiled through my stomach.
You’re out of your mind, I whispered, clutching the thin paper gown against my chest. Am I, David laughed, a sound sharp and entirely devoid of humor. You cheated on me, Lauren.
The story doesn’t end here — it continues on the next page.
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