I came home with our baby’s ultrasound in my hand—and found my husband hurriedly pulling on his pants while my best friend hid behind my maternity coats.

against my hip, I quietly snapped one photo.

The camisole was visible under the bench. Damon’s shirt lay crumpled beside it. The corner of the disturbed bed showed in the background.

I touched nothing.

“I’m going to sit in the nursery,” I said.

“Good idea,” Damon said, a little too fast.

I left without glancing back at the closet.

In the nursery, I lowered continue reading …