d Miller was, from

d art gallery owner with a charism

st starting to make a name for myself,

fts, his affection was a cons

nt to his good taste a

f pressure in our otherwise flawless life: David'

s pregnant, and

oon, the kind of gray, rainy day

d been in a

telling him the news about t

paramedic, calm and professional,

iately, my hands shaking so

ng and rang,

lery, his assist

had s

could r

s jus

oom, a cold dread seeping into my bones, a dread t

zed on the s

t from an un

essage, just a

as D

brightly lit gallery, his arm

a familiar smile and the

mfortable, like two peop

Sophia Hayes, my moth

the hospital overhead humming, and a coldness spr

ate that night, looking t

d been caught up in a last-minute m

practiced lie that slid

t confr

t screa

I thought I knew, and felt a pr

me papers I need you to sign. It' s just some investment

ved that I wasn'

arling. Anyth

ocuments I placed in front of hi

nt, so sure of hi

me into his arms, his hand

so loved," he murmured, h

me like a p

ph

our child after the w

n, and he stepped

s voice on the other

s my

ozen, as memories

e encounter at one of his galler

t proposal, the three years of wh

ry tender touch, was now

to his study, a room I w

rivate sanctuary, where he

dn't care abo

er running, then I walked to th

s unl

wasn't

s a s

ered with photogra

Sophia on a beach

d with David' s handwriting, professing a

desk, open,

di

up, my hea

eir college love story, their painful breakup, an

entries we

s lost love' s niece, a p

pregnant, to have a child he could name Sophi

an a stand-in, a vess

, the baby-it was all

nse it felt like it

ain, a cold, hard re

t be his r

a part of his

had signed inv

as w

ed a divorc

tly beneath the first, was a consen

agreed to end the lie he ha

study, leaving the d

my purse and

appointme

pital and, with the signed consent f

ece of his lie that