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The tech pointed. “You have an anterior placenta, so it might take longer to feel something..”

“What does that mean?”

“The placenta is facing you. It dulls the kicks. Don’t panic. Your baby is moving even if you aren’t feeling it.”

“When should I feel them?”

“Sometimes, not even until after the anatomy scan. Which is when we’ll see you next.”

I hoped they might tell me that I’d soon feel kicks. The Internet said about fifteen weeks was normal, but it could take until twenty with a first pregnancy. So, I wasn’t panicked, just disappointed. My body was changing and I was permanently exhausted, but I wasn’t feeling that beautiful connection people felt to their baby.

The tech must have sensed it, “It’s so common for people to feel a little out-of-sorts until those first kicks. Even moms with half a dozen kids. Each pregnancy is different. Don’t panic if you do feel that way.”

I smiled, grateful for her kindness.

“Do you have a support person in mind?”

I shook my head. “No. Not yet. I’m doing this alone.”

A pitiful look crossed her face. Guilt rocked me every time I lied. How hard was it to just admit the truth to Cole? The longer the ruse continued, the more I felt like I could just keep it up. It’s why I avoided my family. I couldn’t bear to lie, but couldn't tell them without him. And I couldn't tell Cole because he didn't want this. He made that clear. I couldn’t break his heart and deal with the fallout.

I left the doctor’s office with a new appointment, clean bill of health, and stack of beautiful pictures. I examined them in the car, taking in the little face developing before my eyes. As I did, I spotted a nose I knew—Piper’s nose. Unexpectedly, I burst into tears. The familiarity shook me.

While sobbing, my phone rang. It was Meg. I didn’t even know why I answered. Maybe it was the need to just vent to someone who didn’t need me to be perfect? Maybe it was because I knew she’d never tell anyone? Maybe it was because her life was messier than mine?

“Yes?” I sniffled.

“Hi." She paused, "Chloe, are you okay?”

“Yes. No. I don’t even know.”

“What’s going on?”

“Uh, nothing,” I sniffled. “Just a nuclear-level disaster.”

“I’m sorry… what?” Meg asked, confused. “Where are you?”

“I am sobbing in a parking lot in Evanston.”

“Are you okay?”

“No. I’m not. I don’t even know what I am. What do you need?”

“I… I am sorry to bother you, but… I need a job rec. I had a nightmare boss. I know you don’t owe me shit, but I just… I cannot work with this person anymore.”

“I thought you got some sweet gig with a publicist? Madeline Jonas?”

“I did,” she sighed. “But she screamed at me every day. I’m so sorry to ask. Trust me when I say I am embarrassed and don’t deserve your support, but I fled LA. I have nothing to my name. I’m living in my mom’s basement until further notice.”

“I’m so sorry,” I said earnestly.

“You don’t owe me that, okay? For the record, I broke it off with fuckboy about three days after I left Chicago. He’s a narcissist. You dodged a bullet.”

I snickered. “I know. Honestly, I am glad you got out. I know he preyed on you. He’s so fucking needy and I feel idiotic for falling for it.”

“He was hot and convincing despite being dumb as a box of rocks, babes.”

I giggled. “Too true.”