He left me for another woman without looking back.
Three weeks later, the lottery ticket I’d bought with my last twenty dollars hit the state jackpot.
When my face appeared on the evening news, my phone started ringing.
His name flashed across the screen.
At seven months pregnant, I stood in our bedroom doorway while my husband packed his belongings into a black suitcase.
Ryan never looked at my swollen ankles or the hand resting protectively over our daughter.
He zipped the suitcase and said, “I’m done supporting you and that baby. Figure it out yourself.”
“That baby is yours,” I whispered.
He gave a humorless laugh.
“You wanted her more than I did.”
Outside our Raleigh townhouse, Vanessa waited in her silver convertible.
She had been Ryan’s “marketing consultant” until I discovered a hotel receipt on our joint card.
