Gabriel, my husband of seven years, the same man who had been too busy to come to a single prenatal check-up, was now rushing back and forth, registering paperwork, picking up prescriptions, making sure she was taken care of.
Like the perfect husband.
So work had been nothing but an excuse. The truth was far simpler, he just didn’t want to waste time on the wife he’d long since grown tired of.
Across the crowded hospital lobby, he pulled Lily into his arms, his voice unbearably tender.
“The doctor said you need to eat less tonight and move around more.”
“Ugh, I know,” she whined, nudging him. “But it’s your fault. Who told you to buy so many dumplings?”
Gabriel chuckled, brushing a strand of hair from her face. “Alright, alright, it’s my fault. I bought too many, made my baby eat too much. Happy now?”
“That’s more like it.” She huffed, crossing her arms before smirking. “I guess I’ll forgive you this time.”
They bickered like a real married couple, easy, familiar, affectionate.
And I?
I stood beneath the harsh fluorescent lights, nothing more than a spectator in my own life.
A shadow. A joke.
My hands pressed against my belly as I turned away, each step heavy, suffocating.
The automatic doors slid open, and a gust of autumn wind cut through me like a blade. The rain had started, fine and misty at first, then harder, colder, as if the sky itself was trying to bury me.
Through the downpour, I saw them again.
Gabriel had stripped off his coat and wrapped it around Lily’s shoulders, shielding her from the rain. He guided her into the passenger seat with practiced ease, his hands lingering, making sure she was comfortable.
Then, just as he was about to pull away, she grabbed his tie and tugged him down for a kiss.
Not just a kiss.
A claim.
My husband cupped her face, his thumbs stroking her cheeks as he deepened it, lost in her, in them.
When they finally broke apart, he smiled down at her, warm, indulgent, and tapped her nose. Again.
She giggled, yanked his tie, and bit his lower lip in retaliation.
He didn’t mind.
He just laughed, slid into the driver’s seat, and started the engine, content.
As the car rolled forward, the passenger window lowered just enough.
Lily turned her head, her gaze locking onto mine through the rain-streaked darkness.
She didn’t smirk.
She didn’t gloat.
She simply looked at me.
Like I had already lost.
