Page 27 of The Logic of Loyalty

When the summer light starts to dim, my excitement spikes, and energy is restored. I check my watch and shimmy when I realize I have ten minutes before the show begins. The test is still in my pocket, and I’m itching to shove it in my husband’s face, explain why I’ve been so tired, and get everything back on track. My phone died about an hour ago, so I plugged it in to charge. Maybe I should grab it for pictures? Catch my big, bad husband crying with joy? A few people have already left, which is fine with me. Becky and Carter are wandering over to the guests to let them know it’s time to settle in for the fireworks. I scan the crowd to see if Trevor is looking for me, but I don’t see him. It’s fine. Check the house. I have time.

I do a more thorough scan just to confirm that he really is not out here. With only five minutes to spare, I rush inside to see if I can find him. “Trevor. Honey! The fireworks are starting soon!” I run through the living room to our bedroom, our bathroom, then back into the living room. “Trevor?” There’s no sound. I jog upstairs, only to find a soundly sleeping Jacob. He’s such an early bird.

Running out of time and options, I find my phone and decide to call the man. I grab it from its charger and race to the living room, where I can see out the window to the field beyond. “Trevor?” Still no response. My stomach starts to drop when the first flashes of fireworks light the room, but there’s still time. They last almost thirty minutes. When the sound echoes in my empty home, followed by the appreciative murmurs of our guests, I pull up Trevor’s contact, but before I hit call, one unread message notification from thirty minutes ago pops up. My hand shakes when I click it, dread and disappointment hitting before I finish reading.

Unknown

Don’t worry. I’ll look out for him.

The picture is taken from the side, Krista’s hand on Trevor’s shoulder in the front seat of his car. He is smiling while his eyes remain focused on the road in front of him.

I drop the phone to the floor and stare at it, blinking my moisture-filled eyes. He left me. Another round of fireworks light up the sky, as I pull out my pregnancy test. The results of years of trying. It’s worth a celebration—a new beginning. The emptiness of my home closes in around me. Clapping and cheering filter in from my yard as people enjoy the amazing show my neighbors are putting on. He didn’t even come find me. He didn’t say goodbye.

This was supposed to be the celebration of a new beginning, but instead, it’s me, sitting alone with a silly piece of plastic and a dismissive text message from my husband using another woman’s phone.

He left me, and he left with her.

Chapter Nine

PAIGE

My stomach looks unchanged.

It’s still a little plump, and it’s still pale. There’s still a little mole to the right of my still oddly deep belly button. My hand runs across the landscape of my belly, marking all of the details that make it uniquely mine. Then I reach the jagged edge of my scar. My finger glides along the uneven line that spans the length of my lower abdomen. The scar serves as a reminder that my body was not a safe space for my baby. While everything appears to remain the same, nobody would be able to tell that there’s a new life stirring beneath my palm.

My baby.

Our baby.

The room is dark. The house is quiet. The brilliant flashes and echoing crashes of the grand fireworks show have long since faded away. No sounds of laughter, cheers, or chatter remain in our home. There’s nothing except for the odd creak and scrape you never want to think too closely about.

This is where I sit. Alone in the silence, charting my belly and watching the door a few hours after everyone left. A few hours after, a number of people stayed back to help clean up the food and trash, namely Carter and Becky.

I tilt my head and slide the pendant on my favorite necklace back and forth, slipping it into my mouth for the 18000th time. My push present from so many years ago is a simple chain and a metal work of a kangaroo. I was obsessed with the concept of wearing our baby and was looking at pictures online, following women on YouTube who made it look so effortless. When I showed Trevor the picture of a specific brand, he laughed at me and said that I was his adorable little pregnant kangaroo.

The idea stuck, and we used a lot of Kanga and Roo items in our first little apartment. Even as we struggled in our Suburban, he found a way to include my obsession with a small stuffed animal he found at a secondhand store.

I cried when he gave it to me. I cried again when I opened the wrap and necklace. “My little kangaroo,” Trevor whispered and kissed my cheek.

Currently, our boy is upstairs, sleeping soundly in his bed. He’s unaware of what has happened, and for that, I’m grateful. I pull my legs up and wrap my arms around them, resting my head on my knees in a pose I won’t be able to sit in soon enough.

Why is it that, sometimes, silence can echo? That it can be so loud?

As these thoughts drift through my mind until the roar of Trevor’s car cuts through the night and jars me out of the place of contemplation I was in. My fist crumples the note I found beside our bed not long after the fireworks finished.

My world, I gotta take care of something. I couldn’t find you and I ran out of time. I’ll explain everything when I get home. I’ll probably be late, so don’t wait up. I love you.

— Your Star

If only I knew what I was going to say to the man who metaphorically punched me in the throat with his actions today. Checking my watch, I adjust my thoughts. It was actually yesterday that he left—with Krista.

The click of the door shutting, the jingle of him placing the keys on the table, and the thumps of him removing his shoes are a familiar cadence of his return home, but this time, the old comfort adds weight to my chest, and my breathing picks up.

His quiet steps drift toward me, and my knees drop over the edge of the couch, my hands clutching the frayed hem of my shorts. My mind drifts back to the sex-on-legs that my husband spent his evening with, and I tug my sweatshirt more securely over the same belly I was studying to intently only moments ago, draping it to hang loose over my frame.

A bang and a loud curse reach my ear. While I would normally mock him for his ridiculousness in insisting on walking in the dark and make sure he’s alright, I remain quiet, my mouth firmly shut, my mind racing.

Why would you leave and not give me a way to stay in contact?