“Pack your things, Ramona.”

His voice was devoid of inflection. It was a statement of fact, like commenting on the time.

The pregnancy test slipped from my numb fingers, clattering onto the hardwood floor. The sound was a gunshot in the sudden, suffocating silence.

“What?” I whispered, the air leaving my lungs.

Sterling stepped over the plastic stick without glancing down. He loosened his silk burgundy tie—the one I had gifted him for our second anniversary—with sharp, violent jerks.

“You heard me. This charade is over. I’m done pretending. And I am definitely done with you.”

The room spun. The candlelight flickered, mocking the romantic tableau I had set. “Sterling, please. There is something important I need to tell you.”