I sent emails.

I tried your private cell.

And when none of it worked, I drove to your headquarters.

Twice.” “You came to the office?” “The first time, I had taken three positive tests that morning,” she said, her voice fragile.

“The second time I was almost twelve weeks along and had the first ultrasound photo in my purse.

Your security guard wouldn’t let me past the lobby elevator.

The front desk told me you’d given strict instructions that no personal visitors were allowed upstairs, under any circumstances.” And a sick wave of guilt went through me, because that part was true.