On Our 6th Anniversary, My Husband Gave My Home to Her novel · Chapter 2 of 24

Chapter 2: My Name on a Cardboard Box

Her things are in boxes, her vitamins are gone and her study is a nursery; a delivery slip shows the crib was ordered six weeks ago.

The first thing I saw inside 1806 was a cardboard box with my name on it.

My books were inside. My framed photos. My work folders.

My blue coffee mug sat on top, wrapped in a dish towel.

Three pairs of Summer's shoes stood lined up beside the box.

My slippers were shoved under the bench by the door.

"I was just tidying up," Summer said, watching me look. "I hope that's okay."

I picked up our wedding photo from the box.

The glass had a crack across one corner.

Grady walked past me with her baby boutique bags.

"She needed space for her things, Claire. You've been gone almost three weeks."

"I was with my mother."

"Nobody's blaming you for that."

He said it like I should thank him.

I set the photo on the bench and followed them to the kitchen.

Summer unpacked the groceries without asking where anything went.

Her oat milk filled the fridge door. Glass containers with her name on the lids took over the top shelf. Ginger tea and crackers for morning sickness sat in the cabinet beside the stove.

Her prenatal vitamins stood next to the coffee maker.

Mine weren't anywhere.

"Where are my vitamins?"

Summer looked at Grady.

"Oh, I put a few things in storage. I needed the shelf for my supplements."

"You moved my medication?"

"They're only vitamins, Claire. They're probably in one of the boxes."

Grady shut the refrigerator hard.

"Can we not fight about vitamins? Summer has had a long day."

I looked at him.

"She has my door access. Her food is in my kitchen. My things are in cardboard. When exactly am I allowed to be upset?"

His jaw tightened.

"She's pregnant. You don't understand what she needs right now."

My hand closed around my bag strap.

The ultrasound was still inside.

"You've never carried a child, Claire," he said. "Summer is. Give her some peace."

I stared at him.

For four years I had taken tests in bathrooms with the door locked.

He had held me after every one that came back with one line.

He had sat in the car while I went through the specialist's exams.

Now he was using those years like a stick.

I wanted to take the ultrasound out of my bag and put it in his hand.

I wanted to say, we finally have our baby.

Summer stepped between us.

"Please stop. I'll leave if I'm causing trouble. Tom might take me back."

"You're not going back to him," Grady said at once.

Then he turned on me.

"One time, just once, could you be glad for someone who isn't you?"

I looked past his shoulder.

A smear of forest green ran down the side of my box.

I had mixed that exact color for my study walls.

"Where's my desk?"

Something moved in Grady's face.

I walked down the hall.

"Claire." He came after me. "Don't start."

I pushed open the study door.

The dark green walls were white.

My desk was gone. My bookshelves were gone. So was the reading chair Grady gave me for our second anniversary.

A white crib stood against the far wall, under a painted crescent moon.

Next to it were a rocking chair, a changing table and baskets of folded blankets.

Tiny clothes hung in the closet.

I couldn't move.

Two years ago I had shown him a picture of almost this same crib.

He had looked at the price and said we should wait until I was actually pregnant.

I put the picture away and never brought it up again.

Now I was pregnant, and the crib was in my study.

It was for Summer's baby.

"You built her a nursery."

He stood right behind me.

"She needed somewhere to get ready. You weren't using the room. We'll move your desk into the bedroom."

I turned around.

"I asked for a crib two years ago. You said we'd be throwing money at nothing."

He rubbed his forehead.

"This is different. Summer's baby is real. Ours never showed up."

My fingers dug into the doorframe.

Seven weeks.

Our baby was seven weeks old, and its father was standing in a nursery he'd built for someone else's.

"Move the crib," I said. "I want my study back. Summer can have the guest room."

"Absolutely not. She's settled in."

"So have I. For six years."

Summer leaned on the hallway wall behind him.

"Grady, the room is spinning a bit."

He spun around.

"Summer?"

He caught her by the waist.

Then he looked back at me.

"See what you're doing? The doctor told her to avoid stress."

He walked her toward our bedroom.

At the corner she looked back at me once, with her hand on her stomach.

I turned to the crib.

I knelt to pick up the box of my files that had been dumped by the closet.

The bottom tore open and papers slid across the floor.

Under the closet shelf, a flat sheet of crib packaging was wedged between the wall and a stack of bedding.

A delivery slip was still taped to the corner.

I read the date.

Then I read it again.

The crib was ordered six weeks ago.

Six weeks ago, Summer was still living with Tom.

Nobody had thrown her out. There had been no emergency.

My husband had bought a crib for her baby before she ever needed a place to stay.

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