And she was holding something in her hand. A pregnancy test. Because of course she was. "Grant," she said, and her voice had this weird mix of excitement and terror that I'd heard twice before, when she told me she was pregnant with Jake and again with Emma.
But this time, hearing it made my stomach drop through the floor and probably into our neighbor's basement. I set down my coffee mug, the one Emma had made me in art class with "World's Okayest Dad" painted in crooked letters, and turned to face her fully. Part of me wanted to run. Just bolt out the back door, hop in my Honda Civic, and drive until I hit ocean or ran out of gas, whichever came first.
But the other part of me, the part that had been preparing for this moment for three months, just stood there waiting for the inevitable. "It worked," she said, holding up the pregnancy test like it was a winning lottery ticket instead of the death certificate for our marriage. "I'm pregnant." And there it was.
The moment when theoretical became real. When stupid became irreversible. When my wife officially became pregnant with her boss's baby. She was standing there with this triumphant smile on her face like she'd just won the Nobel Prize for outstanding achievement in ruining your family.
And all I could think was how completely and utterly screwed we were. I didn't yell. I didn't throw anything. I didn't grab her by the shoulders and shake her until she came to her senses.
I just looked at her, really looked at her, and said the only thing that made sense anymore. "Okay." That's it. Just okay.
One word, four letters. The period at the end of the sentence that had been our marriage. She blinked at me, clearly expecting some kind of bigger reaction. Maybe she thought I'd suddenly see the light and realize what a beautiful, generous thing she was doing.
Maybe she thought I'd break down and beg her to reconsider. Or maybe she thought I'd lose it completely and give her the dramatic confrontation she could use to justify everything she'd done. But I didn't give her any of that. I just picked up my coffee, took a sip, and said it again.
"Okay." "That's it?" she asked. And now there was confusion creeping into her voice.
"That's all you have to say?" I shrugged, which I know sounds callous, but what else was there to do? We'd already had every conversation worth having about this topic. I'd already told her exactly what would happen if she went through with it. She'd already made it clear that my opinion didn't matter to her.