If I had started my own business sooner.
If I had worked more Saturdays.
If I had saved better.
The answer always felt the same.
I was not enough.
Every night before turning off the light, I would kneel beside our bed, kiss her cheek, and whisper, “Thank you.”
She would run her fingers through my hair without answering.
I thought she was trying not to cry.
Last Tuesday, I forgot my torque wrench at home.
Daniel, my boss, waved at me from the apartment building we were renovating.
“Hey, Cal, everything good?”
I gave him a thumbs-up and did not bother explaining that I was heading home.
I had worked for Daniel for six years. He had taught me half the trade, come to Eli’s birthday parties, and once slipped an extra Christmas bonus into my paycheck while pretending it was a bookkeeping mistake.
I trusted him.
So when I saw his truck parked outside my house twenty minutes later, I was surprised—but not scared.
I parked by the gate and walked toward the porch.
The kitchen window was open.
Then I heard Daniel’s voice.
“So… he still believes the surrogacy story?”
I froze.
Renee laughed softly.
“Every single word.”
My heartbeat roared in my ears.
Daniel said something too low for me to hear.
Then Renee answered, “Next week, we’ll finally move in.”
I did not hear anything after that.
My knees weakened, and I slid down against the siding until I was sitting in the flower bed, damp mulch under my hands.
Move in?
Daniel had keys to every renovation property we worked on. My mind did not have to wonder which house Renee meant.
By the time I climbed back into my truck, the worst possible answer had already settled in my chest.
I never went inside.
Hours later, back at work, Daniel looked up from the open wall where he was measuring pipe.
“Everything okay?”
I forced a nod.
“Yeah.”
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