I pressed my left thumb hard into my palm.

A sharp, brief contraction tightened my lower stomach.

I was five months along, and the Braxton Hicks had started a week early.

I pulled the thick stack of printed audit logs out of my navy manila accordion folder.

“I can cross-reference the logs in my folder after I get back from the appointment,” I said.

“The tax board charges three hundred dollars a day for late reconciliation.”

Julian picked up his briefcase by the handle.

“The books are closed for the quarter,” Julian said.

He opened the door to the garage and walked through without looking back.

At half past eleven, I sat in the breakfast nook with my laptop open to a baby registry, scrolling through pictures of tiny cotton socks and soft muslin swaddles.

A gentle flutter moved just under my ribs, a tiny and completely perfect shift of weight.

I leaned back in the wooden chair and smiled into the quiet room.

It was the first time I had felt a distinct kick instead of a roll.

I tapped the spacebar to save a set of yellow onesies to the list.