The Cracks Appear

I stared at Melinda’s photo for several seconds before looking closer at the screen. My brain noticed the tiny inconsistency before I was consciously aware of it.

The picture showed Melinda sitting on a blanket at Garfield Park with the baby in her lap, and the caption read, Perfect Sunday with my little man.

It had hundreds of likes and dozens of comments calling them a beautiful family. But I wasn’t looking at the caption, or at Melinda. I was looking at the child’s apparent age.

He was clearly a year old, maybe even thirteen months. Suddenly, a timeline that had never quite made sense during their whirlwind romance started clicking into place.

I lowered the phone to the table.

“What is it, Kirsten?” Kenneth asked, noticing my pale face.