After His Mistress Made Me Infertile, He Defended Her

Diana picked up on the second ring. I heard her kids yelling in the background. Something about a video game. Normal life sounds.

"Hold on," she said. Then, muffled: "Both of you, outside. Now."

A door closed. The noise cut off.

"Okay," she said. "I'm here."

I sat on the edge of the bed with my phone pressed to my ear. The suitcases were still open on the floor. I'd been packing for Iceland. Thermals. Wool socks. The camera I hadn't used since college.

"He canceled," I said.

"The trip?"

"Fallon's in the ER. Appendicitis."

Diana didn't say anything for a moment. I heard her breathing.

"That's the third time this month," she said finally. "Some kind of emergency."

"I know."

"Your anniversary dinner. The Hamptons weekend. Now this."

"I know."

"Serenity." Her voice was careful. "What are you going to do?"

I looked at the thermals folded on the bed. I'd bought them two months ago. Checked the weather in Reykjavik every week. Read reviews of the aurora tour. I'd wanted this since I was sixteen years old.

"I don't know," I said.

"Yes you do."

I closed my eyes. "Diana—"

"You've been describing an exit for months," she said quietly. "You just haven't named it yet."

I didn't answer. My thumb found the scar on my right hand. Pressed against it.

"I'm not ready," I said.

"Okay." Diana's voice softened. "But when you are, I'm here."

We hung up. I sat there for a long time. Then I stood and started unpacking both suitcases. Mine and Maxwell's. I folded everything back into neat stacks. Put them in the closet. Zipped the suitcases and slid them under the bed.

It took twenty minutes. When I was done, it looked like we'd never planned to go anywhere at all.

Maxwell came home after midnight. I was still awake. I heard him in the hallway. Heard him stop outside the bedroom door.

He came in quietly. Sat on the edge of the bed.

"She's okay," he said. "They're keeping her overnight for observation."

I didn't turn over. "Good."

"I'm sorry about the trip."

"Okay."

He put his hand on my shoulder. "We'll reschedule. I promise."

I didn't say anything. After a moment, he got up and went to the bathroom. I heard the water running. Heard him brush his teeth.

When he got into bed, he put his arm around me. His breath was warm against my neck.

"I love you," he said.

I stared at the wall. "I know."

He fell asleep in minutes. I lay there listening to him breathe.

I didn't sleep at all.

The next morning, I called my mother while Maxwell was in the shower. I didn't plan to. I just needed to hear her voice.

"Sweetheart!" She sounded happy. "How are you? Are you excited for your trip?"

"We're not going," I said.

"What? Why not?"

"Something came up."

There was a pause. I could picture her face. The little line between her eyebrows.

"With Maxwell's work?" she asked.

"With Fallon."

Another pause. Longer this time.

"Oh," she said. "Is she alright?"

"She's fine."

"Well." My mother's voice brightened. "I'm sure Maxwell had a good reason. He's always so thoughtful."

I closed my eyes. My hand tightened around the phone.

"Mom," I said. "This is the third time this month. He canceled our anniversary dinner. He canceled the Hamptons. Now this."

"I'm sure he didn't want to," she said gently. "You know how responsible he is. If Fallon needed him—"

"I needed him."

Silence.

"Serenity." Her voice was softer now. Patient. "You married such a good man, sweetheart. Don't be so hard on him."

I opened my mouth. Closed it.

"I have to go," I said.

"Wait—"

I hung up.

I sat in the kitchen for a long time after that. The coffee maker beeped. I didn't get up. The sun came through the window and moved across the floor.

I thought about the Northern Lights. About the aurora tour guide I'd emailed. About the remote cabin with the glass ceiling so you could watch the sky from bed.

I thought about Maxwell's hand on my shoulder last night. The weight of it.

I thought about Diana's voice. *You've been describing an exit.*

I pressed my thumb against the scar on my right hand. The place where my ring finger used to be. The place that still ached sometimes when it rained.

Maxwell came into the kitchen. He was dressed for work. Tie knotted. Cologne sharp.

"You okay?" he asked.

I looked at him. At the man I'd pulled from a burning car. At the man who'd knelt beside my hospital bed and promised to spend his life making it up to me.

"I'm fine," I said.

He kissed the top of my head. "I'll be home by seven."

He left. The door closed. The apartment went quiet.

I sat in the kitchen with my cold coffee and watched the light move across the floor.

Somewhere above the Arctic Circle, the Northern Lights were dancing. Green and gold and impossibly bright.

I would never see them.

I knew that now.