My child had never once had his father present for a single prenatal checkup. Not one, right up until the termination.
Her child was given the best of everything the world had to offer.
I slowly turned my head toward the television mounted on the wall. An entertainment segment was playing. A private jet sat on a runway, and Dustin was helping Alice down the stairs, a procession of bodyguards, attendants, and medical staff trailing behind them.
"Sources say Delgado Group CEO Dustin Delgado has spared no expense in chartering a private jet for a global trip to pamper his wife during her pregnancy. The couple's devotion has left the public green with envy..."
I remembered an urgent meeting once that required a fourteen-hour flight. I'd mentioned it offhandedly: "It'd be nice if we could take the private jet. It'd be so much more comfortable."
He'd looked at me with open disapproval. "Cecily, if you can't handle a little discomfort, how are you going to set an example for the employees at Delgado Group? As CEO, I have to lead by example."
Now I understood. He wasn't principled. He simply didn't think I was worth making an exception for.
Over the next few days, Alice posted more from their travels.
Notre-Dame Cathedral. She leaned into Dustin's arms, Gothic spires rising behind them.
The Pampas grasslands. He grilled steak for her with his own hands. She photographed his busy silhouette and his smoke-flushed face.
The Great Rift Valley in East Africa. He crouched on the ground and caught her vomit in his bare hands. The photo was blurry, as if taken candidly, but the caption dripped with pride: "Morning sickness hit. He panicked and just caught it with his hands."
Every landscape I'd fantasized about a thousand times, every destination I'd never reached—Alice Dotson had claimed them all.
I was more certain than ever. Alice knew exactly what she was doing. She'd been faking her illness the entire time. All of it, to steal Dustin from me.
Finally, the sixth day arrived. Tomorrow evening was the time my father and I had agreed upon.
The sun was sinking. I stood by the window, slid the wedding band off my ring finger, and dropped it into the trash can with a sharp clink.
Out of nowhere, a large hand with pronounced knuckles reached past me and fished it out bare-handed.