Page 29 of Broken Vows

The doorbell interrupts my thoughts. Jeremy stands on the porch with a paper bag of oranges, looking uncertain.

“I was in the neighborhood,” he says, which we both know is a lie–his work site is across town. “Thought you might want these.”

“Thanks.” I step aside to let him in. “Want some tea?”

He hesitates for just a moment before nodding. We move around the kitchen in a familiar dance, him getting mugs while I pour the tea. Like muscle memory–five years of marriage doesn’t just disappear.

“Crazy to know we have a little bean coming,” he asks, noticing the ultrasound on the fridge.

“Yeah. I can make you a copy today.”

“I’d like that.” He sips his tea. “Have you told anyone yet?”

I shake my head. “Just Lilly. Well, sort of. When you overheard.” I peel an orange, focusing on keeping the rind in one piece. “Have you?”

“No.” He watches me separate the orange segments. “Feels weird, keeping it from everyone. But also…”

“Like it’s just ours right now?”

He nods. We sit at the kitchen table in silence, not really much to say since the divorce.

All there really is to talk about right now is our baby.

The morning passes quietly until his phone buzzes. “Work,” he says, standing. “I should go.”

I walk him to the door. At the threshold, he turns.

“Let me know when the next appointment is?”

I nod. “Of course.”

After he leaves, I try Lilly one more time. Still voicemail. This time I don’t leave a message.

The rest of the day passes slowly. I research nursery colors, make lists of things we’ll need. Around sunset, my phone buzzes with another text from Jeremy:

Jeremy

How are you feeling? Did the oranges help?

I stare at the message for a long time. There’s something so intimate about his concern, despite everything.

Me

A little. Thanks.

Jeremy

Good. Get some rest.

I curl up on the couch with my phone, scrolling through old photos of Lilly and me. Birthday parties, beach trips, my wedding day. Her smile was bright and constant through every picture.

“Where are you?” I whisper to her image. “What’s going on?”

Outside, a car door slams, and for a moment my heart leaps. But it’s just the neighbors. My house stays quiet, my phone stays silent, and I’m left with nothing but questions and the faint taste of oranges on my tongue.

Later, in bed, I find myself on Facebook, looking at Lilly’s profile. Her last post was two weeks ago–a photo of coffee and a book, nothing unusual. No clues about why she’s disappeared.

I rest my hand on my stomach, taking comfort in this new constant in my life.

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