At the bottom, typed in small medical shorthand, were details from the appointment. Estimated gestational age. Measurements. Due date.
I sat very still while something ancient and brutal tore loose in my chest.
Tiffany had sent me baby-name reels on social media for the last month as a joke, always with captions like imagine when one of us finally gets knocked up lol. My mother had started asking what I thought about converting the turret room into a nursery “someday,” and I had laughed because Aunt Betty used that room as a reading nook and because Brett and I were in no rush and because none of it meant what I thought it meant.
I opened the banking app.
Brett had linked our wedding account there because he liked to move money between his checking account and the account I primarily funded. “Looks better when we show wedding vendors one strong balance,” he had said.
The transactions were bright as blood.
Aloha Resorts: $12,084.52
Delta One roundtrip for four: $4,527.11
Tiffany & Company: $3,281.00
Several boutique purchases I recognized because Tiffany had once sent me identical items as “inspiration” for bridesmaid gifts.
They had used my money to fund their affair vacation.