“Oh. Right. Wow,” I laugh a little, though I’m not smiling. “Small world.”
“Yeah, it is,” she says softly, but something seems off. Most women in her position would be flaunting that they’re now married to the other woman’s ex. They’d be happily making small talk, waving their left hand around so that the ring is more than obvious. Then it hits me.
She’s not wearing a ring.
“How…” My question starts with a stutter, and I clear my throat. “How long have you worked here?”
“Only about two weeks,” she says. “Mitch and I separated.”
“Oh. I’m sorry to hear that,” I say, and I really do mean it. Because I can relate to the sadness in her voice. The emptiness in her eyes.
“Yeah. It’s wild. I loved him, you know? But I can’t be with a liar. I’m sure you can relate.”
“What did he lie about?” I ask. Part of me doesn’t want to know because I can tell it’s big. Big enough to open old wounds.
Hannah gives me an odd look. “The vasectomy he had when he was younger,” she says, and every word feels like a bullet to the chest.
“The vasectomy…”
“Yeah. You know, I only found out because when we were at the doctor to figure out if there was something wrong with me, the doctor saw it on his medical record,” she half-laughs. “Can you believe that? I found out from a doctor that he can’t have kids, by choice, with him standing there playing dumb. I just can’t believe I didn’t– oh. Oh god. You didn’t know…” she says with a look of horror, and it’s only then that I realize I am crying.
“No, I didn’t,” I admit. “I had no idea.”
“I’m so sorry. I shouldn’t have said anything,” she says, but I shake my head.
“No. I’m glad you did,” I say, blinking back the tears and straightening up. Then I smile at her the best I can. “I’m not upset with you. Thank you for being genuine with me. I’m sorry you had to go through that.”
“I’m sorry you did too,” she says, and we hug. As odd as it might sound, it felt like the right thing to do for both of us.
I work the rest of my shift on autopilot, dealing with fussy babies voluntarily because as crazy as it sounds, it’s the perfect buffer to shield me from my emotions. Between losing Bentley and Zane and finding out that I was never the reason I wasn’t getting pregnant, my world is in pieces. And I don’t know that I’ll ever be able to put it back together again.
After my shift, I walk to my car and close the door. The flood of emotion I had been holding inside for the last couple of hours breaks free from the dam, and for a while, I just sit in my car sobbing. Eventually, it dries out, but I still can’t bring myself to do anything just yet.
Maren Morris plays softly over the radio, and I wish I smoked like she sings in the song. Times like this are when smokers would light one up, but I’m not a smoker. Wine doesn’t even sound good. Nothing sounds good. I just want to sit in the hurt for a moment.
But as soon as I close my eyes, squeezing out a few hot, salty stray tears, my phone rings. I look down and see that it’s a three-way call.
“Hey,” I answer.
“You sound like hell. What’s wrong?” Alice asks. “Other than your life.”
“Well, I just found out Mitch had a vasectomy,” I say flatly.
“What?” Troy asks.
“Who told you that?” Alice asks.
“Becca.”
“Ew. Why were you talking to Becca?” Alice asks.
“We work together,” I say.
“Wait, what?” Troy asks.
“Okay, hold on,” Alice cuts in. “We will circle back to that for sure. But first, we have to tell you something,” she says, and by the urgency in her voice, I can tell it’s not good.
“Alright,” I sigh. “Hit me.”
