Nausea hit me like a wave, sharp and relentless, just as I reached for the coffee pot. I barely made it to the sink in time, my stomach lurching violently. Pregnancy had not been kind to me, and the constant nausea was just another reminder of how much my life had changed. 

Gripping the edge of the counter, breathing hard as the worst of it passed, I grab a paper towel, wiping my face. The sink smelled of dish soap and stale coffee, and I rinsed my mouth quickly, trying to pull myself together before Gabe walked in. He couldn't see me like this- not today, not when everything between us already felt so fragile. 

I heard him before I saw him. His footsteps were soft but steady as he moved through the hallway, probably buttoning his shirt like he did every morning. The same routine. The same man. Except he wasn't. Not anymore. 

Nearly a week ago, I found a lipstick stain on his shirt-soft pink, right on the collar. The image of it flashed through my mind every time I saw him now, lingering like a bad dream. I had washed the shirt, scrubbing at the stain like I could erase what it meant, but it hadn't worked. The doubt stayed with me. 

It ended up being folded and placed inside my closet on the floor. I really wanted to burn the darn thing but Gabe had walked into the kitchen then and I hid it behind my back- as if I had been the one with something to hide. 

Mrs. Carter, our cook, came into the kitchen then to take our breakfast outside like she usually does on Sundays and had seen the shirt behind my back. She never said anything to me about it, but she did give me sad looks in the days that followed. 

"Morning," Gabe's clear but deep voice, broke the silence, and I jumped. I turned to find all six foot two of him standing in the doorway, adjusting his cufflinks. His eyes lingered on me for a second, concerned, before shifting to his phone. 

His concern feels like a mockery to me. 

"Good morning," I managed to say, swallowing the bitter taste in my mouth. I wiped a shaky hand over my face, trying to shake off the nausea and the unease that had settled deep in my chest. I forced a smile, but it felt thin, forced. 

He took the coffee mug I had for myself but not touched and drank half the contents before emptying the rest down the sink and leaving the mug there for Mrs. Carter. 

"You okay?" he asked, but there was no real warmth in his voice, just the casual question of someone making conversation. He was already halfway to the door, mentally checking out, just like he had been for the past few months. 

"Yeah, just the usual." I said it, resting a hand on my flat belly. Gabe frowned as if he wanted to ask, "Usual what?" But he did not. Why had I even said that? 

My husband had no idea I was pregnant. How could he? I'd only found out three days ago myself- after I thought I was stressed about the lipstick- only to be given with the most beautiful news any woman could want. 

"Congratulations Mrs. Adkin, you're seven weeks along." 

The reminder of the pregnancy was always there now, and every time I touched my stomach, a wave of emotion followed. This was supposed to be a happy time. It wasn't supposed to feel like this. 

How to tell Gabe when we barely spoke anymore? That last time we did- it felt like we were both forcing it and we never touched since. So not a love baby- but I loved this baby already. 

Gabe nodded, barely paying attention as he grabbed his briefcase and his coat. I watched him for a moment, wondering if he even noticed how distant he had become. Or maybe he noticed, and he just didn't care. 

It haunted me. That lipstick stain. I couldn't stop thinking about it. How could I explain it away? We worked together. We spent every waking moment dealing with the demands of our family business. When would he have time for an affair? It didn't make sense, but the doubt crept in anyway, slow and insidious. 

I wanted to believe there was some logical explanation, that maybe the lipstick had come from an innocent brush against a client's cheek or a careless hug at one of our corporate dinners. Maybe at a business dinner. Maybe ... someone ran into him at the office... which had me scanning the females to see who was clumsy or always in a hurry that she would walk into someone... I felt like a fool. 

"You sure you're okay?" he asked again, his tone neutral, as though he were talking to a coworker and not the woman, he'd married five years ago and built a life with. 

I nodded quickly, avoiding his eyes. "Yeah. Fine." 

He hesitated for a moment, and for a second, I thought he might kiss me goodbye like he used to, but instead, he gave me a stiff smile, his hand already on the doorknob. 

"See you at the office," he said, and before I could respond, he was gone. 

The door clicked shut, leaving me alone in the silence of our apartment. I stood there, staring at the empty space where he'd been, my heart pounding in my chest. The nausea had faded, but the dread had not. 

'See you at the office.' We worked side by side and suddenly it was 'see you at the office.' 

Showering a bit longer than necessary, I walk into my closet and eyed the shirt. I pulled it out, staring at the pink smudge on the collar, my thumb tracing over it like I was trying to solve a puzzle, asking myself the same questions as before. What did this mean? Where had he been? Who had he been with? 

I sank down onto the floor, the weight of it all pressing down on me. Why did I feel like I was losing him, piece by piece? 

Later that day, I made my way to the office, trying to shake off the feeling that had been hanging over me all morning. The family business had always been our shared dream, but now the office felt like a battlefield. I couldn't shake the feeling that something was coming-something I didn't want to face. 

When I walked into the lobby, Janine, the aged receptionist, gave me her usual bright smile, but it faltered when she saw me. "Morning, Mrs. Adkins. Are you feeling okay?" Her eyes flicked to my stomach, and she gave me a sympathetic nod. "Take care of yourself. You've been working so hard lately." 

Nodding and a bit uncomfortable that she looked at my tummy area as if she knew, I forced a smile and continued down the hall to Gabe's office. The door was half-open, and I could hear his voice, low and tense, on the phone. He was pacing, a sure sign something was bothering him. I waited for him to finish, my heart thudding in my chest. 

When he finally saw me, he hung up the phone quickly, shoving it into his pocket. "Hey. Everything okay?" 

"I was going to ask you the same thing," I said, stepping into the office. "You seemed...distracted lately." 

Gabe's expression tightened, and he ran a hand through his hair. "It's just work. The expansion's been stressful." 

"Is that all it is?" I asked quietly, unable to hold back the question that had been burning in my chest since I found the lipstick. 

He didn't meet my eyes. Instead, he walked around to the other side of his desk, putting a barrier between us. His phone buzzed on the desk, and he glanced at it quickly before turning it face down. 

"Megara," he said, his voice serious. He only ever called me Megara when he was about to say something I didn't want to hear. My heart dropped into my stomach, and I braced myself. 

"We need to talk."