Even their late-night food deliveries.
I dropped my backpack beside the door.
“Where’s Emily?”
Brittany didn’t even look up.
“In the kitchen, I think.”
Kayla snorted.
“She’s washing the dishes we used. Just because she’s pregnant doesn’t mean she’s made of glass.”
My mother sighed dramatically.
“Oh, Ethan, your wife is so sensitive. When I was pregnant with you, I cooked, cleaned, worked, and took care of your father. Women these days act like pregnancy is a disability.”
I didn’t answer.
Something dark was rising inside my chest.
Instead, I walked toward the kitchen.
I heard running water before I saw her.
Then I stopped in the doorway.
And my blood turned cold.
Emily stood barefoot on the tile floor.
Her swollen stomach nearly touched the edge of the sink.
One hand was submerged in dirty dishwater.
The other pressed against her lower back.
