Page 62 of Filthy Little Midlife Fling

“Seventeen weeks along,” Caroline explains, cradling the small bump that had been hidden by the loose fabric of her dress.

A vice clamps around my throat. My ex-husband called me defective, traded me in for a younger model, and finally got the perfect family he always wanted.

Now he’s rubbing my nose in it.

Why—why on earth—did I come here? Why did I put myself in this position? Why did I open up the locked box where I’d stuffed the past?

“Congratulations,” says the disembodied voice that belongs to me. “That’s fantastic.”

“We decided to try at the beginning of the year, and two months later—” Caroline beams at Terry, who leans over to kiss her temple. She laughs, shaking her head, cocooned in her own glowing happiness. “I never thought it would happen so soon. I’m not sure I’m ready!”

I want to barf.

We tried for seven years. Countless pregnancy tests, stared at for long, agonizing minutes while hope blossomed and soured into countless disappointments. Every menstrual cycle brought with it a new wave of grief.

I thought I’d accepted the fact that I’d never have children, but seeing my ex-husband with his pregnant wife is a punch in the gut I hadn’t anticipated.

“I should get started on this quote,” I tell the happy couple, waving my papers around. “I’ll be in touch.”

I won’t be in touch. I’ll come up with some excuse—anything to avoid ever coming face-to-face with these people again. This is the worst idea I’ve had in a long, long time.

Halfway to my van, I hear my name. Terry comes jogging down the flagstone path toward me. “Audrey, wait.” He huffs to a stop a few feet away. “Are you okay?”

“I’m fine,” I lie.

He arches a brow, seeing right through the words. “Audrey. Come on. We were married for a decade. I know what ‘I’m fine’ really means.”

Shock and grief morph to righteous anger. His tone is too familiar, with an edge of fondness that he has no right to use. I straighten my spine. “I need to get back to work, Terry. Congratulations on the baby. Truly. I know how much you wanted a family.”

And how I was never able to give it to you.

“Audrey, don’t be upset.” He inches closer, his voice dropping.

I open the driver’s side door, suddenly exhausted. “I’m not upset, Terry. I wish you the best. Now I need to get back to work.”

“I wasn’t lying, you know,” he tells me, catching the edge of the door before I can close it. “You do look great.”

What? Confused, overwhelmed, and needing to escape, I say, “Thank you,” in a flat voice. “If you could let go of my door, I’d appreciate it. I have to get back to work.”

“We never talk anymore.”

I frown. “Terry, we’re divorced. Why in the world would I talk to you?”

His face softens. “It’s just… I’ve missed you.”

Words are not computing in my brain. Frowning at my ex-husband, who still hasn’t let go of the door, I shake my head. “What?”

“Maybe we could have dinner sometime. Or just grab a drink and catch up. You used to love going to cocktail bars with me, remember? I could get an old fashioned, you could get a mojito.”

“Terry, I’m never going to reminisce about the good old days with you. Ever.”

He laughs, as if I’m joking, and angles his body closer.

“Let go of the door, please. I have to go.”

“Audrey, come on. You can’t be serious. You just wiggled into my house wearing that—”

I look down at my leggings and loose Organizing Goddess-branded tee, frowning.

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