afternoon at a coffee shop across town.
I recognized her the moment she walked in.
She sat opposite me, wrapped both hands around her cup, and looked like she hadn’t slept much either.
“I’m sorry,” she said.
That was enough.
“How long?”
She swallowed. “About six months.”
I stared at the table.
Six months.
While I pushed the stroller every morning.
While I counted pounds.
While Ryan asked whether I’d “made progress.”
“He told me your marriage was basically over,” Hannah continued. “He said you two barely spoke anymore. That
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