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It already hurts worse than anything I’ve ever experienced. But what am I supposed to do?

Don’t I owe it to our baby to try to be a family?

A knock on the door startles me, and I bolt upright, wiping away the tears that have fallen.

“Come in,” I call out, my voice shaky.

The door opens, and my father appears in the doorway. “You okay, sweetie?”

“Just pregnancy hormones, I guess.”

He nervously shifts from foot to foot. It’s strange to see my father look uneasy. He’s never been uncomfortable a day in his life. He’s only ever exuded confidence. But now, he appears uncertain. Conflicted.

“Can I…” He clears his throat. “Can I come in and talk?”

Nodding, I scoot over on my bed. “Sure.”

He slowly crosses the room and sits down, Gary slumbering between us. For several long moments, he simply stares at his hands, as if he has no idea what to say, even though he’s the one who wanted to talk to me.

“How have you been feeling?” he finally asks.

“Okay. The morning sickness is easing up a little.”

Either that, or my breaking heart has dulled everything else.

“That’s good.” He pauses, then looks my way. “And Wyatt? How’s he been?”

“Good.”

I don’t know what else to say.

He has been good. Attentive. Sweet. The perfect doting husband.

But it feels…wrong.

“Thanks again for letting Gary stay here while we’re at the Heritage Bowl,” I say to fill the silence. “Is Mom sure she doesn’t want to come? She’s more than welcome.”

“I think your mom wouldn’t mind a break from football.” He pushes out a small laugh. “Plus, she loves this dog.” He scratches between Gary’s ears. “She’d much rather spend time with him than go to some football game.”

I gape at him. My dad has never cared whether my mom liked football. He always went. So she always went.

I wonder if she said something. Or maybe he’s finally paying attention.

“I get the feeling you’d prefer the same.”

I square my shoulders. “I’m happy to support Wyatt. It’s a big deal for his team to play in the Heritage Bowl.”

He nods slowly, as if turning over my response in his mind. Then he leans toward me.

“Are you sure this is really what you want?”

His question stops me cold. “What are you talking about?”

“Wyatt. Staying married. Are you sure this is what you truly want? Because if it’s not, it’s okay to⁠—”

I shoot to my feet. “I thought you’d be happy we’re staying together. When I told you we were getting a divorce, you were pissed. Accused me of jumping to conclusions about his infidelity. And now you’re questioning whether I’m making the right decision by trying to make our marriage work for our baby?”

“I know.” Dad heaves a sigh, his head hanging low. “I don’t think I handled that news the way I should have.”