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What am I going to tell him? That being back here and staring at all these photos from my high school days has brought into focus how pathetic my life is? How I’ve accomplished nothing I thought I would?

He wouldn’t understand. I’m not even sure I do right now.

“Just feeling nostalgic,” I force out as I move toward the vanity, running my fingers along its surface. “I haven’t been in this room in years.”

My father studies me the way he sizes up the opposing team on the field. Then his face lights up.

“Are you pregnant?”

His question knocks the breath out of me, making me feel like the floor’s about to give out beneath me. I grip the edge of the vanity, needing it to steady me.

“Is that why you’re here? To tell us in person? That’s why you drove, isn’t it? Oh, this is amazing news.” He crushes me in a hug before I can correct him. “Wyatt must be over the moon. I can’t tell you how much your mother and I are looking forward to spoiling our little grandbaby.”

I squeeze my eyes shut, every word another dagger in my heart after all the trouble Wyatt and I have had trying to conceive.

At first, it was fun and hopeful. Each month when my period came, it wasn’t a big deal. It meant another month of trying. Another month of sex.

Then a year passed.

And another.

And another.

About a year ago, I finally decided to see a fertility specialist. She couldn’t find issues with either of us. Wyatt’s sperm should have gotten the job done. My body should have been able to get pregnant. So for the past several months, I’ve been taking medication to boost ovulation and increase our chances. A last-ditch effort before IVF.

Maybe that’s where we went wrong.

Sex stopped being spontaneous. Instead, my ovulation calendar dictated when we slept together. I can’t even remember the last time we kissed outside of planned sex.

But does that excuse what Wyatt did?

“I’m so happy for you, Wynter,” my dad continues. “This is the best Christmas present ever. I⁠—”

“I’m not pregnant.” I push out of his embrace, somehow keeping my voice steady. “I just wanted to see the town I grew up in at Christmas. That’s all. There’s no baby. Okay?”

“Oh.” His shoulders sag. “Are you sure?”

I huff out a laugh. “I think I’d know if I were pregnant.”

“Right. Of course. I just… I guess I got excited about throwing a ball around the yard with my grandson.”

I bite my tongue instead of pointing out it could be a girl.

Actually, it won’t be either.

Because I’m not pregnant.

And with my marriage ending, I doubt I ever will be.

“If you don’t mind, I’d like to get some rest,” I say as politely as possible.

“Of course. Have a good night, Wynter.”

“’Night, Dad.”

Once the door clicks shut, I collapse onto the bed. Gary jumps up uninvited, nuzzling against me and offering comfort, like he has every day since I brought him home.

I don’t know which hurts more.