Chapter 3

The silence stretches.

"Wow, what are the odds," the woman says slowly. "Same letter and everything. This wouldn't happen to be yours, would it, Aria?"

My face goes stiff. Every breath is heavy.

Then she bursts out laughing at her own joke.

"Listen to me. What am I even saying? Like she'd know Mr. Chase. Girl probably doesn't even know what he looks like."

Right. Of course. A woman like me—worn jeans, gray T-shirt, pilled socks—couldn't possibly cross paths with Sterling Chase.

I see Evelyn's shoulders relax. The little crease between her brows smooths out. But she's not done with me. Her smile turns sweet in that careful, practiced way rich women have.

"Ladies, leave Aria alone. She seems like a good girl. She'd never do something that nasty."

Then, louder, for the room.

"Whoever the lipstick belongs to—she's just some cheap mistress. Trash. She's not making waves."

Evelyn picks up the lipstick, glances at it once, and tosses it into the trash can like it's a used tissue.

I watch it land.

Something in my chest tears wide open.

Sterling gave me that lipstick on our wedding day. A five-dollar drugstore tube. I kept it like it was a diamond. Five years. I'd panic if it scratched.

And there it sits in the trash. Right next to my marriage. Both of them garbage. Both of them are jokes.

Evelyn's eyes drift over me—slow, neutral, the way you'd look at something at a yard sale.

In a room full of designer maternity wear, I stick out like a stain.

I tuck my feet under me without thinking. She catches it. Of course she does.

The corner of her mouth lifts. Calm. Untouchable.

"Aria, I have a closet full of clothes I haven't even worn. If you'd like, come by and grab whatever fits. My husband buys me a whole new wardrobe every season. I can't get through it. It just ends up in donation bags anyway. Better it goes to someone who needs it."

Then her eyes drop to my stomach.

"How far along are you, sweetie?"

My nails dig into my palm.

"A little over three months."

The whole circle turns. Stares. A few jaws actually drop.

"Three months? Are you serious? You can't even tell."

My hand drifts to my belly. My fingers won't stop shaking.

No. You can't tell.

I work two jobs so Sterling won't have to stretch his paycheck. I haven't bought meat in months. I've been losing weight for years. Five-foot-eight, barely ninety pounds. My stomach is flat. There's nothing there for them to see.

In a room of glowing pregnant women, I look like a dried-up weed.

Something close to pity flickers across Evelyn's face. Her voice goes soft. Gentle.

"Honey, you're not eating enough. That's not okay for the baby. After class, let me send you home with some prenatal stuff. Vitamins, protein powder, whatever you need."

I shake my head on instinct. She waves me off.

"Don't be silly. Do me the favor. Honestly, ever since I got pregnant, my husband's been trying to feed me the entire store. I can't keep up. I'm sick of looking at it."

I glance at the black plastic bag near the wall.

Inside: the day-old shrimp I grabbed from the market this morning, half of them already gray.

That's what I'm bringing home to my baby tonight.