Telling John about the pregnancy had been a calculated decision, a necessary one, but it hadn't been easy. You'd hoped it might bridge the distance between you and your husband, bring some semblance of connection back to your fractured marriage but instead, it felt like another wedge. Just another layer to the already complicated mess. The words had hung in the air between you, unanswered, as if they were simply facts to be acknowledged, not feelings to be shared. No joy. No surprise. Just the hollow silence that had become a part of your life. It felt as though you were living two different lives under the same roof, neither of you really seeing the other anymore. Not with your concealed professions in the way.

The space, meant to be a refuge for couples, had become a battlefield. Discussing your problems in therapy sessions was supposed to show you how to communicate, but it set you back to point zero instead and pulled you in two different directions. The therapist was sitting across from both of you, his eyes flicking back and forth as if he were the mediator of some quiet war. He had been patient, gentle, but the questions he asked seemed to push you further into uncomfortable corners. "How far along are you?" He inquired. John turned his head to look at you. His eyes were distant, not soft, and certainly not warm... Almost calculating, like he was waiting for something more than just an response. Your relationship, the pregnancy - it all felt like too much to unpack in this sterile room.