“Hey, love,” he said, opening the passenger door. “I was thinking a warm white for the kitchen…”
I held up my phone.
“Maya says she’s pregnant. With your baby.”
His smile died so fast it looked mechanical. He swallowed.
“She called you.”
“Is it true?” My voice sounded calm, and that scared me more than anger.
Ethan looked away.
“It’s complicated.”
“It’s yes or no,” I said.
He exhaled hard.
“Yes. But listen…”
I cut him off.
“Since when?”
His silence answered before his mouth did.
I nodded slowly.
“And you’re leaving me.”
Ethan’s eyes flashed with irritation, as if I were being dramatic.
“I didn’t plan this. Maya needs support. She’s pregnant. I can’t just…”
“So I’m disposable,” I whispered.
He leaned closer, lowering his voice.
“You’ll be fine. The house is in both our names. We’ll figure it out like adults.”
He didn’t come home that night. He went to Maya.
Two weeks later, I was in my apartment when Maya sent me a photo: her hand resting on her belly, Ethan’s hand over hers, and behind them… my porch.
Text: “Moving day.”
My blood turned to ice. I drove there so fast I barely remember the trip. Their cars were in the driveway. Boxes on the lawn. Maya was laughing, giving instructions to the movers as if the place belonged to her.
I walked up onto the porch.
“What are you doing?”
Maya smiled slowly, smug.
“Ethan said you’d be reasonable. You’re leaving, so we’re moving in.”
