"I'm tired, Iris." Three words. The door-closing tone. The one that means we're done before we've started. He walks through the room like I'm furniture, loosening his tie, smelling of whiskey and her perfume. That floral, expensive scent. Stronger now than it was at dinner. I've been sitting on the edge of this bed for two hours. Rehearsing this conversation until the words have grooves in my mind. Calm. Clear. Direct. I stand. "We need to talk." "I'm tired, Iris." The tie lands on the chair. Misses. He doesn't pick it up. "This won't take long." "It never does. And then somehow an hour passes." Three years of shrinking myself down to take up less of his time, and he still thinks I ask for too much of it. "Damon." Steadier than I expected. "Look at me." He stops. Turns his head slightly. Not all the way. I reach into my purse and hold up the test. "I'm pregnant." He goes completely still. Shirt half-unbuttoned, one hand raised. Three seconds. Four. Then he turns around, t
Last Updated : 2026-02-18 Read more