Whenever you asked what was going on, he would shrug without looking at you.
“Work. That’s all.”
The truth arrived on an ordinary afternoon, which somehow made it crueler.
His phone lit up on the kitchen table while he was in the shower. You hadn’t meant to look. Even ten years later, you tell yourself that. You hadn’t been spying. You had been wiping spilled juice from the table when the screen brightened and the message appeared.
Love, our son is kicking so hard today.
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