Before Your Mommy Finds Out
Part One: The Question
“Ryan, can we please talk?”
He was standing at the kitchen sink, rinsing a baby bottle. He didn’t turn around.
“About what, Hannah?”
“About us,” I said. “You’ve barely spoken to me in three months.”
He set the bottle in the drying rack. Then he picked it up again and rinsed it a second time, even though it was already clean.
“I’m just tired,” he said.
“We’re both tired,” I said. “Lily’s only seven months old. Neither of us sleeps much.”
I stood in the kitchen doorway in his old college sweatshirt, the gray one with the hole in the cuff. It was ten o’clock at night. The baby monitor on the counter glowed green. Somewhere down the street, a dog was barking.
“But you won’t even kiss me anymore,” I said.
He went still.
“Hannah, please,” he said quietly. “Not tonight.”
“Then when?” I said. “Every time I try to talk to you, you walk away.”
He looked down at the sink.
“Did I do something wrong?” I asked.
My voice cracked on the last word. I hated that it cracked. I’d promised myself I wouldn’t cry this time.
He turned around then. He looked at me for the first time all evening. His eyes were red.
“No, sweetheart,” he said. “You haven’t done anything wrong.”
“Then why are you treating me like this?”
He opened his mouth. He closed it.
“I can’t explain it right now,” he said.
I took a breath. I asked the question I’d been afraid to ask for weeks.
“Is there someone else?”
“No!” he said. It came out loud and fast, almost angry. “Of course not. Hannah, no. Never.”
What happened next changed everything… FULL STORY on the next page.
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