Chapter 1

"So, we're really doing this, huh?" Sarah asked, her voice a little too bright.

She swirled the wine in her glass, watching the city lights of Portland from our apartment window.

"No kids, ever," I confirmed, leaning against the doorframe. "You've been clear about that for years, Sarah."

"And you're okay with it, Michael? Really okay?"

"We've talked about it a thousand times," I said. "A life just for us, travel, careers. It's what we both agreed on."

She smiled then, a wide, brilliant smile that used to make my chest ache.

"Good," she said. "So, to seal the deal, we both get fixed, right? You first, then me."

I nodded. "My vasectomy is scheduled for next Tuesday. Dr. Albright."

"Perfect," she said, coming over to kiss me. "Our child-free paradise awaits."

The procedure was quick, uncomfortable but not unbearable.

I came home, a bag of frozen peas on my groin, feeling a strange mix of relief and finality.

Sarah was there, all solicitous.

"How are you feeling, honey?" she asked, helping me to the couch.

"Sore," I said. "But done. Your turn next month, right?"

She sat beside me, took my hand. Her grip was tight.

"Michael," she began, her voice suddenly different, not solicitous anymore.

"There's something I need to tell you."

A knot formed in my stomach. "What is it?"

"I've been thinking a lot," she said, looking not at me, but at her perfectly manicured nails. "And I've changed my mind."

"Changed your mind about what?" I asked, though a cold dread was already seeping in.

"About kids," she said. "I want one now."

I stared at her, the peas forgotten. "What? Sarah, I just had a vasectomy. Today. Because you said, *we* said, no kids."

"I know, and I appreciate you doing that, really," she said, her tone almost casual.

"Appreciate it?" My voice was rising. "What the hell are you talking about?"

"Well, since you can't have children now," she continued, as if explaining something simple to a child, "it actually works out perfectly."

"Works out? How does any of this work out?"

"I'm going to have a baby," she announced, a small, triumphant smile playing on her lips.

"With Ethan."

The name hit me like a punch. Ethan. Her college flame, the one she always romanticized. The irresponsible musician.

"Ethan?" I choked out. "You're going to have a baby with Ethan?"

"Yes," she said, nodding. "We reconnected. And he wants a child too. It's like fate."

I felt the room tilt. The pain in my groin was nothing compared to the crushing weight on my chest.

"And what about me?" I managed to ask. "What about our marriage, our life?"

She finally looked at me, her eyes cool, assessing.

"Well, I was hoping you'd help raise it, of course," she said. "We can still be a family, just... a modern one."

I couldn't speak. The audacity, the sheer, calculated cruelty of it, stole my breath.

She had waited. She had let me go through with it, irreversible and absolute, and then she dropped this.

My wife. The woman I loved, the woman I built my life with.

The woman who had just slit my future open from navel to throat.