As I was washing up, I saw Ryan talking on the phone.

The balcony's warm light bathed his profile in a gentle glow—the same tenderness he used to show when telling stories to my belly during pregnancy.

I put away the last dish and retreated to our room.

The next morning, I discreetly followed him out.

He was off to pick up Sherry and the kid, and they all headed to the mall together.

Ryan and Sherry were each holding the kid's hands, their laughter floating back to me.

Watching their easy camaraderie, I couldn't help but imagine—if our kid had lived, maybe that could have been us.

But that chance was gone forever.

Then again, maybe it's for the best. How would I have explained to him that his dad's love was already split with another family?

"Baby Jeremy was up late last night missing you," Sherry said, a hint of reproach in her voice.

"Was it just Baby Jeremy missing me?" Ryan's voice had that playful edge.

Sherry blushed, feigning annoyance, "Really, Ryan? In front of the kid?"

The boy's sweet voice piped up, "Jeremy knows that Daddy loves Mommy most."

Ryan scooped him up, echoing, "You got that right, Baby Jeremy. Daddy loves Mommy most!"

They shopped for clothes, jewelry, bags, and shoes, then hit a children's amusement park, ending their day at a cozy restaurant.

I watched from across the street, not following them in.

They snagged the prime window seat. I watched Ryan carefully place crab onto Sherry's plate, then tenderly brush a strand of hair behind her ear before leaning in to plant a kiss on her cheek.

Ryan didn't hesitate—it was a deep, sure kiss.

The scene was something out of a winter postcard—snow falling, a warm glow from within, a couple in a loving embrace, a child clapping along.

Standing out in the cold, I saw everything clearly but felt only a numb, cold detachment.

If Ryan looked down just then, he'd see me, but he didn't.

I thought I could keep it together, and stay silent after keeping it bottled up all day. But when Ryan and Sherry returned to her place and he didn't leave, I couldn't help but call.

He dismissed my first few calls, then the second. It wasn't until the third that he picked up.

He sounded annoyed. "I'm in a meeting. What is it?"

Suddenly, it was like my frozen heart started beating again, each pulse raw with pain.

"Ryan, enjoying the crab you peeled? How sweet is that cherry lipstick?"

Ryan sounded rattled. "Hannah, where are you?"

"Do you even remember what today is? Five years ago today, we lost our child. He's gone. And you? You're in bed with her, planning to start another family?"

There we sat, across a vast table.

After seven years, we couldn't even muster the courtesy you'd give a stranger.

"If you have no objections, just sign."

Ryan barely glanced at the divorce papers before tossing them aside.

"Hannah, I don't want a divorce."

"You have a child with her! And you say you don't want a divorce? What do you see me as, Ryan?"

"Am I just your loyal maid?"

"Or just an easy mark?"

Ryan's expression tightened. "Don't talk about yourself like that, Hannah. I don't see you that way."

The tears I'd been holding back finally broke free, streaming down my face. "Is it really just about what you say now?"

"Ryan, you've already made your choice!"

He looked down, voice catching, "I'm sorry."

"But believe me, Hannah, I never planned to divorce you. The kid was just a slip."

I wiped my face, each word heavy and deliberate, "Okay, no divorce. But how do we go on from here?"

"Do you expect me to watch you three play house every day?"

"Did you forget we had a child too? You might forget him, but I can't!"

I lost it, screaming at Ryan, grabbing a glass from the table, and hurling it at him.

Ryan didn't move to dodge; instead, he stepped forward and pulled me into his arms. "Hannah, I haven't forgotten. Let me sort this out. I'll send them away, okay? We won't divorce."

I fought against him, kicking and struggling until I was spent. Just before I blacked out, I made it clear, "We're getting a divorce."