Page 32 of Broken Vows

I look down at my stomach, the slight curve visible under my tank top. Almost through the first trimester.

“I noticed it yesterday,” I say, running my hand over the bump.

His eyes follow the movement of my hand, something soft and sad in his expression.

“We should probably tell my parents soon,” he says carefully.

The thought makes my stomach clench. And not from morning sickness. His mother will have questions. Lots of them. About the divorce, about the timing, about why we’re living like this–Jeremy on the couch, me upstairs, trying to co-parent before there’s even a baby to parent.

“Maybe after the 20-week scan,” I suggest. “When we know everything’s okay.”

He nods.

“Lilly wants to go baby shopping this weekend,” I say, watching his face. “Look at cribs and stuff.”

He scrunches his face, but it twists into a small smile. “That’s good,” he says, too casually. “You two catching up.”

“It’s weird though. She barely mentions the baby.”

Jeremy stands abruptly, carrying his mug to the sink. “I should get to work. Power lines won’t fix themselves.”

I watch him gather his things, noting the tension in his shoulders that wasn’t there moments ago. “Thanks for breakfast,” I call as he heads for the door.

“Always,” he says, and for a second he looks like he wants to say something else. But then he’s gone, the screen door slapping shut behind him.

Later that afternoon, Lilly comes by with some carb filled snacks. “Here’s to cravings!”

I laugh and sit down on the couch, her following behind.

“How are you feeling?” I ask, looking her up and down. She doesn’t look pregnant yet.

“Fine.” She busies herself arranging the vitamins. “Barely any morning sickness.”

“Lucky.” I lean against the counter. “Have you told your parents yet?”

“No.” The word comes out sharp. “Not yet.”

“They might be more supportive than you think. About Zeke, about the baby?—”

“Can we not?” She cuts me off. “Talk about it, I mean. It’s still… raw.”

But something in her voice doesn’t sound raw. It sounds rehearsed.

“Sure,” I say slowly. “Whatever you need.”

She relaxes slightly. “Tell me about you and Jeremy instead. How’s that going?”

“It’s…” I pause, trying to find the right words. “Complicated. But good, maybe? He’s been really supportive.”

“Has he?” Again, that strange note in her voice.

Before I can question it, she’s pulling out her phone. “Look at these nursery ideas I found. I thought maybe we could paint this weekend? Take your mind off things?”

We spend the next hour looking at paint swatches and crib designs.

“I could definitely turn his old office into a nursery,”

“Yes!” she says.

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