Chapter 8
The paternity result came in early summer.
Ryan called me himself.
“The baby is Daniel’s,” he said.
I sat down on the bookstore steps.
“Are you okay?”
“I knew it was possible. I’m relieved to know the truth, and sad about what it means.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Daniel will have a child,” he said. “I hope they do right by her.”
I looked through the glass at Jules helping a customer.
“So do I.”
Daniel called an hour later. He did not ask me to comfort him.
“I wanted you to hear it from me too,” he said. “I’m the father.”
“Ryan told me.”
“I’ll be involved. Megan and I are working out how to care for the baby without pretending we’re a couple.”
“That’s between you and her.”
“I know.”
After the call, I went upstairs to the office and cried.
Not because I thought the baby had taken something from me. She had done nothing wrong. I cried because Daniel and I had spent so many months hoping for news like that together. Now it belonged to another life.
Tasha came when I called.
“You don’t have to turn your grief into a lesson,” she said.
“I don’t blame the baby.”
“I know.”
“I can still be hurt.”
“Yes.”
We went for a walk after the bookstore closed. I told her I was frightened people would look at me and see the woman who could not give her husband a child.
Tasha stopped.
“Daniel betrayed you. That has nothing to do with what your body did or didn’t do.”
I knew it. I needed to hear her say it.
The divorce proceeded. Daniel followed through on the financial agreement we reached. He moved to a small apartment near his work. We divided photographs and furniture without turning them into another fight.
Megan’s pregnancy became visible. I saw her once from across a parking lot and turned away. I did not owe either of us a conversation.
Lena remained my friend. So did Ryan, though we took care not to make every meeting about what happened.
One evening, the three of us helped Jules close the bookstore before a community reading. Ryan carried folding chairs. Lena arranged cookies. I watched them argue about where to place the microphone.
I felt a sudden rush of gratitude so strong I had to step into the back room.
Mom had built the store to be a place where people could sit and talk without buying anything. It was still that place. My marriage had ended. My oldest friendship had ended. I had not lost everyone.
During the reading, a little boy asked his grandmother to read a page twice. She did. People smiled and waited.
Afterward, Lena handed me the last cookie.
“You look happy,” she said.
“I am, for this minute.”
“That counts.”
It did.
The following week, I signed the final divorce papers. Daniel and I met outside the office afterward.
“I hope you’re well,” he said.
“I’m getting there.”
“I meant what I said. I’m sorry.”
“I know.”
We did not hug. We went in different directions.
I had thought the end would feel like a door slamming. It felt more like putting down a heavy box after carrying it too far.
At home, I made dinner for myself and ate it in the green room. I called Tasha afterward.
“How does it feel?” she asked.
“Quiet.”
“Do you want company?”
May you like
“Tomorrow. Tonight I want to hear the quiet.”
I slept through the night for the first time in months.
