Chapter 3

Ethan left early the next morning.

Vanessa called.

"Jesus Christ, Diana. That bastard is garbage!"

"They've been together for three years."

"He's got her set up at The Ashford. The most expensive postpartum retreat in the state. VIP suite, room 8808. $120,000 a month."

Vanessa was breathing hard on the other end, barely able to get the words out.

"I'm going over there right now. I'll make sure those two never forget today."

I looked out the window.

"No. I'll go myself."

I hung up, grabbed my car keys, and left.

The lobby of The Ashford was blindingly bright, the air thick with fresh flowers and the kind of quiet that only money can buy..

"Good morning, ma'am. Do you have an appointment?" The receptionist's smile was perfectly rehearsed.

"A friend recommended this place. Just looking around."

"Of course. I'll have one of our consultants give you a tour."

A consultant named Karen led me inside. The wool carpet underfoot was so thick it swallowed every sound.

She kept listing the luxury services they offered.

"Our security is extremely tight. Every room is fully private. Our guests value their privacy."

"For example, the guest in 8808."

She pointed to the door at the end of the hall.

I stopped walking.

"Can I see that one?"

"I'm sorry, ma'am. That room is occupied."

"My friend is staying here. I'll just pop in and say hello."

I didn't waste another word. I brushed past her and put my hand on the door handle of 8808.

Karen tried to stop me.

"Ma'am, you can't—"

I turned my wrist. The door cracked open.

Laughter spilled out.

"Sophia, one more bite, honey. I made this for you this morning."

It was Margaret—Ethan's mother.

I peered through the gap.

Sophia was propped up in bed, looking perfectly healthy.

Margaret sat at her bedside, holding a plate, cutting the food into tiny pieces and feeding them to her one by one.

The kind of care I had never once received from that woman in my entire life.

Ethan sat at the edge of the bed, a tiny baby in his arms, grinning from ear to ear.

"Sweetheart, you've been through so much."

Ethan leaned down and kissed Sophia on the forehead.

My daughter Lily—the one who was supposed to be in Ohio as a flower girl—was leaning against the side of the bed.

She tilted her little face up toward the woman in the bed and called out sweetly.

"Mommy, I want to hold my baby brother too."

Sophia smiled and patted Lily's head.

"Lily's such a good girl. Once your baby brother gets a little bigger, you can hold him."

My hand was still on the cold door handle.

I thought about when I gave birth to Lily.

C-section. Seven stitches. For the first two weeks, even coughing felt like something was ripping inside me.

The day I was discharged, I arranged my own ride home.

Ethan said a client had scheduled a last-minute dinner. He couldn't get away.

Margaret came once. She stood by the bassinet for twenty minutes and didn't say a single word to me.

On her way out, she paused at the door and looked back at me.

"When I had Ethan, I was looking after him on my own within days."

"You should try doing things on your own. Stop expecting everyone to wait on you."

Those six weeks—no night nurse, no doula, not one person who asked if I was in pain.

After giving birth, I lived on half a carton of leftover takeout from the fridge.

Ethan was always busy. Business trips. Client dinners. I'd be lucky to see him a few times a month.

Every time Lily cried at night, I had to drag myself up to feed her, change her.

One time I was in so much pain I couldn't stand. I begged him to help me, just once.

He just rolled over.

"esus, Diana. I have a meeting at seven."

The nausea surged again.

My hand found the bag. Found the recorder. My thumb pressed record. I didn't feel it click.