My phone buzzed. It was Sarah. Are you okay? That was messed up yesterday. I typed back a lie: I’m fine. Her reply was instant. Pack a bag. Come stay with me. Seriously. Now.

I stared at the messages, at my engagement ring, at the ultrasound photos stuck to our refrigerator—photos Marcus had never truly looked at. The twins moved again, a rolling wave of elbows and knees, as if they were urging me to act.