The grand ballroom of the Grand Hyatt was decked in pastel blue ribbons and white orchids. Waiters in tailored vests glided through the crowd carrying champagne flutes, while gentle harp music drifted through the air. Sharon stood near the tall velvet curtains near the entrance, holding her silk portfolio tightly against her abdomen. She had come to the hotel for a final interview with an international design firm, but the familiar sound of laughter had drawn her toward the private banquet room.
Through the polished glass doors, she saw him.
Andrew. Her husband of three years.
He was wearing the charcoal suit she had picked out for him last week, his hair combed back with deliberate care. In his arms, he held a tiny, month-old infant wrapped in a cashmere blanket. His face was soft, radiant, and illuminated by a tenderness Sharon had never seen during her own four months of pregnancy. He looked like the picture-perfect, doting father.
"Daddy… say ‘daddy’…" Andrew cooed softly, gently tapping the infant’s tiny nose with his thumb.
"The baby’s only a month old—how could it call anyone ‘daddy’ yet!" A light, melodious voice chimed in beside him.
Rebecca stepped forward, adjusting the blanket around the baby. She wore a simple, cream-colored silk dress that accentuated her graceful silhouette. Her long hair fell in gentle waves across her shoulders, and her eyes sparkled as she looked at Andrew. The photographer gestured for them to lean in closer. Andrew wrapped his free arm around Rebecca’s waist, pulling her flush against his side as the flash bulb flickered.
To anyone watching, they were a happy, prosperous family celebrating their child’s one-month milestone.
Sharon felt a sudden, icy sensation creep from the center of her chest down to the tips of her toes. Her left hand drifted down to rest over her four-month bump under her thick coat. Every single one of Andrew’s close friends was in that room—smiling, raising their glasses, and offering congratulations. The only person kept completely in the dark was the woman lawfully wedded to him.
"Andrew, Sharon doesn’t know about today, right?" one of his army buddies, Marcus, asked, leaning against the bar with a cocktail in hand.
Andrew didn’t even look up from the baby’s face. His voice was flat, cool, and devoid of emotion. "She doesn’t know. And there’s no need for her to. If she found out, she’d overthink again. Lately she’s been harboring a lot of hostility toward Rebecca."
"Don’t any of you go whispering in her ear," Andrew added, his gaze sharpening slightly as he looked at the group.
"Relax, man, we know the drill," Marcus chuckled, tossing back his drink. "Lips sealed. But she’s four months pregnant herself… if she finds out about this apartment and the baby someday, won’t the shock be too much for her?"
Andrew’s expression didn't soften. "We’ll hide it as long as we can. If she can’t accept it, we might as well divorce."
Standing outside the heavy doors, Sharon felt her breath catch in her throat. Divorce. He said the word so easily, as if three years of marriage and seven years of loving him were nothing more than an inconvenient line item on a budget sheet.
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