The Story Continues After Part 2

Brandon had sailed when I was seven months pregnant. Two months later, I’d given birth without him. Now our daughters were three months old.

We’d agreed to meet at home, but yesterday, unable to bear another hour of waiting, I’d bought tickets to the port city. I’d barely slept. I’d spent most of the trip picturing him dropping his bag and reaching for a baby…

In my imagination, he always smiled first. Then he cried. I never pictured him looking over my shoulder to see whether another woman could hear us.

The truth was uglier than any nightmare I’d had during the pregnancy. His arm lay possessively around the woman’s waist, and the casual way he dismissed our marriage made the terminal feel airless.

When I told him to look right, I meant the waiting area where an older couple had been watching the exchange.

Brandon’s mother, Diane, and his father, Paul, had also driven to the port.

They’d parked just beyond the glass doors.

I had arranged to meet them, imagining that all of us could welcome Brandon together.

Diane stood beside a column, holding a knitted blanket she’d made for the girls.

She had heard enough.

Her mouth was open, her face rigid with disbelief.

For one reckless second I believed she would rush over and demand that her son apologize.

Instead, she approached slowly and said, “Jenna, please don’t do this here.”

I looked at her.

“Don’t do what?

Bring his daughters?”

“You know what I mean.