Chapter 6: The Exit
Derek and Jessica left the clinic ahead of me. I watched through the glass doors as they stood in the parking lot, their conversation tight and sharp. Jessica’s hands moved in quick, frustrated gestures. Derek kept shaking his head, as if repetition could alter the measurements on the report in my purse.
I walked to my car without approaching them. My hands were steady when I started the engine. The red lipstick I had put on that morning for myself and for the baby no longer felt like a fragile performance. It felt like a declaration.
At home I placed the ultrasound images on the kitchen island—the same island where Derek had set down his coffee mug and called me an idiot. I looked at the small white arrow the doctor had used to mark the heartbeat and allowed myself one long, controlled breath.
Then I called a family law attorney whose name I had written down the week before and never used. Her assistant scheduled me for the following morning. I spent the rest of the afternoon gathering every document I could find: the original vasectomy paperwork, the surgeon’s written instructions about follow-up testing, bank records, the unsigned divorce proposal Derek had tried to force on me in the coffee shop, and screenshots of his social-media post with Jessica.
By evening the house no longer felt like a place I was waiting to be removed from. It felt like evidence.
My phone buzzed once with a message from Derek.
May you like
We need to talk.
I did not reply.
