Page 129 of When It's Us
Janet and Carl Kessler.
Sarah’s mom stands stiff as ever, with her arms tucked in and her spine rigid, like she’s been training her whole life to look down her nose at people. Her husband hovers a step behind her, mouth twisted like he’s caught a whiff of something rotten. They’re older now, grayer, with more lines around their eyes, but not different enough for me to recognize them.
And that look she gives me? That hasn’t aged a day.
Her eyes drop to the beer in my hand. “Beer. At three in the afternoon,” she says. Not loud, but sharp enough to cut.
My jaw clenches involuntarily, heat creeping up my neck. That familiar, choking kind of shame that makes you want to disappear fills my throat and I scan the aisles to make sure no one’s watching this happen.
Then a soft voice cuts through the moment.
I look past them.
And I see her.
Sarah.
She’s standing by the checkout. Frozen mid-step, her hand resting lightly on the head of a little girl in sparkly pink boots. She has the same honey-blonde hair, petite frame, and a man beside her. He’s clean-cut, the collar on his dress shirt crisp and put together all the way down to the tips of his polished shoes.
His hand rests on the small of her back, easy, like it belongs there.
My eyes drop.
There’s a soft swell to her stomach, small but unmistakable.
My chest hollows out.
I don’t move. Don’t blink. Istare.
Janet’s voice cuts in again, smug now, in that practiced way she always had. “She found someone who could give her a real life. A stable man. A family. A future.”
Her words hit like a bullet to the ribs—quiet, but sharp. It’s like hearing the verdict to a sentence I didn’t know I was still serving. My fingers tighten around the milk jug handle, my throat thick with something hot and bitter.
Sarah’s father clears his throat, the look in his eyes a bit uneasy. “Heard your brother Hank took over the Hayes ranch. Two little girls, right? Twins?” he asks like we’re old friends catching up over coffee, instead of ripping open a decades-old wound I’m fairly certain they had a hand in creating.
I nod tightly.
His eyes flick down to my hand, his brows lifting. “Ever the bachelor, I see.”
Her mother makes this sound in the back of her throat—almost a laugh, but meaner. “Some things really don’t change.”
My throat feels tight. Like I’ve swallowed ash. My eyes flick back to Sarah.
“She’s doing well now,” her father says as if I’m somehow going to ruin what she’s built. “Working at a dentist in Livingston. Building something real, with someone who doesn’t hold her back.”
But I’m barely listening now. The little girl tugs on Sarah’s hand, pulling her mother’s gaze away from mine.
No smile, no flicker of recognition or familiarity.
Like I’d never existed.
My eyes drop again to her belly. And that’s the part that guts me.
I never got to see her belly swell withourbaby. Never got to be the man beside her.
I clear my throat, forcing the words out. “Have a good night.”
Neither of them says a word, and I somehow make it to the register where I hastily throw down a twenty before I turn and stumble out into the August heat.
