I had worked extra hours. David had skipped golf weekends. We had turned down little luxuries because we were saving for five peaceful days.
No calls from relatives.
No errands.
No sudden favors for his mother, Marianne.
Only the two of us.
Hidden beneath my dresses was a small wrapped box tied with a white ribbon. Inside was a tiny onesie printed with the words, “Someday Travel Buddy.”
I was not pregnant.
I planned to give it to David during the trip and ask whether he thought we were ready to begin creating a family of our own.
Then the bedroom door opened.
“We need to talk, Don,” he said.
I looked up from my suitcase. “Is everything okay?”
“Yeah. Mostly.”
“Mostly?”
He entered the room but remained standing.
