mention my pregnancy hormones.
He didn’t describe me as stressed or unreasonable.
When he finished, he put down the phone.
“I’m sorry, Anna.”
I believed he meant it.
But believing an apology wasn’t the same as being ready to live together again.
On Saturday morning, I put on the sage-green dress.
I was thirty-six weeks pregnant.
My belly had grown since the first time I’d tried it on, but the dress still fit beautifully.
I stood in front of the mirror for several minutes, adjusting the belt.
For a moment,
