I stare at the words glowing at me from my phone, processing the implications. I can practically hear Tara’s concern leaping off the screen of my phone.

And still, I’m clueless.

Why wouldn’t we be okay?

My fingers make swift work on my tiny phone keyboard.

Sure, we were a little … off, but things have gotten better, his drunken night a distant memory. But that’s the ebb and flow of relationships. You have good streaks and less than ideal streaks. And when someone screws up, as long as you’re not off the charts on the SHITCON scale, you forgive and move on. Hopefully, the good moments outweigh the bad, and you learn to fall in love with each other all over again each day. I watch my phone with bated breath.

Umm … what?

I call Tara for details, and she picks up before it even has a chance to ring.

“Henley, talk to me, sweetie. Are you okay? Why didn’t you tell me Jeff lost his job?”

“What are you talking about, Tara? He didn’t lose his job. Jeff’s at work right now,” I interrupt, but she keeps on talking over me.

“I can’t imagine what you two are going through. I was upset that you felt you couldn’t talk to me about it all. I know you guys are going to be okay, but I cannot even imagine what you’re going through right now with Jeff losing his job so close to your due date.”

“Tara … I don’t …”

But she won’t let me get a word in edgewise.

“I know school is about to start again, but it’s not like a teacher’s salary is anything to shake a stick at.”

I blanch, trying not to take offense to her comment, even though it’s disturbingly true. “Tara—”

“Have you thought about talking to his parents? I know you said they were loaded. Maybe they could help you out right now?”

“TARA!” I shout into the phone, desperate for her attention. She shuts up. After all, there’s a first time for everything.

“Jeff’s at work right now,” I repeat my words from moments ago. I mean, he is at work, right? Certainly I’d be the first to know if he lost his job. We’re going to have a baby together. We’re getting married. This isn’t the kind of news you keep from your significant other.

Tara’s uncomfortably quiet for a beat and then she whispers, “Oh, sweetie …”

“Wait. You’re serious.” It’s not a question, and all of my insides feel weak.

“Henley. I’m so sorry. I really thought you knew …”

And then it happens.

That moment of free fall into darkness. Where you’re not in control of anything, and everything is just barely out of your grasp. And you keep tumbling, tumbling down into the vast nothing, unsure if anything or anyone will be there to break your fall, but you send a silent prayer up, begging for the landing to be pain-free and for it all to end quickly.

“Say something,” Tara implores.

“I … I don’t know what to say.”

He’s been going to work every day the last few weeks and coming home right on schedule. Nothing in his routine has changed. I pause and look at a framed photo of us on a bookshelf across the room. A couple so happy and so in love. The kind of couple that doesn’t keep secrets from one another. The kind that doesn’t lie about something so important. A few silent moments pass before I’m able to speak again. “How did you find out? When did this happen?”

“Well, Jeff wasn’t the only one lying from what I’ve gathered.”

Now she’s really not making any sense. But I remain quiet, waiting for an explanation.

“The night Jeff got wasted was the same day he was let go. What started off as a drink of commiseration with some of his teammates, turned into a panic attack in which half the bar was consumed. Supposedly, Jeff was terrified to call you for fear of launching you into a hormonal tailspin, so he called Cam for a ride. Cam picked him up and tried to drive him around until he sobered up a bit, but it was no use. Then, the pair of them sat at a bench at Swope Park for a few hours. Cam thought he was having the whole pre-dad jitters thing and attempted to have a heart to heart, but Jeff broke down, told him that he was let go from his job and that he felt like nothing less of a failure. Then Jeff asked for his help connecting to some industry headhunters and swore Cam to secrecy.”

A million words and emotions pulsate through my body and mind. But a soft “Oh” is all that I’m able to respond with.

“Don’t worry. I’m plenty mad at Cam over all this. But I’m mostly worried about you.”

We sit in silence for what feels like hours. It feels like silence and I are becoming fast friends.

“Are you okay?” Tara asks quietly.

No. “I’m okay,” I lie, certain she can feel just how betrayed I am.

“Let me rephrase that, are you guys going to be okay?”

Tara understands my threshold for lying is nonexistent. Ever since Leo tried to convince me that the tall woman with the blonde hair and big boobs was his cousin when she was, in fact, a chick he had been sleeping with behind my back, I’ve been a little sensitive to half-truths, partial truths, and lies of omission.

“Henley?”

I take a deep breath through my nose and exhale slowly through my mouth. I have no clue if there’s even a we to speak of right now. If there’s no we, how can I possibly be remotely okay? There’s only one logical answer.

“I’m going to kill him. And then bring him back from the dead so I can murder him again.”

Whoa.

The tone of my voice frightens me a little, and I’m starting to realize just how much more pissed off I am than I first thought. This isn’t just a little white lie. This is a big fat fucking omission of epic proportions. And big fat fucking lies are worthy of big fat fucking consequences. A consequence like death and dismemberment.

“Don’t you think you’re overreacting? The man lost his job and is probably sitting at the lowest of lows. He’s probably trying to figure out a plan of attack before he tells you. Don’t let your crazy pregnant woman hormones do the talking—or homicide—for you.”

That was weeks ago. The window for compassion and understanding was slammed shut the moment he decided to not be forthright with what happened. This is the kind of thing we should be tackling together. So much for being a team. Where you walk, I walk, my ass! Apparently, I’m only allowed to walk whenever and wherever he allows me to walk. And I am not that little submissive woman my mom thinks I should be.

I call bullshit!

How dare he blindside me like this? How could he? And Tara, of anyone, should not be calling me out and defending him right now. Whose team is she on?

I grind my teeth, inhale slowly and count to three. “Don’t you think that if Cameron lost his job a few weeks ago, and kept it hidden from you with the facade of going to and from work each and every day, you’d lose your shit just a little bit?”

Tara’s silent, but I can still hear her breathing on the other end of the phone. She’s putting herself in my shoes, trying to process it all.

“So no, I don’t think I’m overreacting, and this is not the hormones talking. I’m the size of a beluga whale, I’m back in the classroom again next week, anytime I’m standing for more than five minutes I lose my breath, and now I learn that my fiancé — the man who has vowed to take care of this child and me until the ends of the earth — has been lying to me about going to work each and every day? If he’s not at work, what—or who—the hell is he doing?” My voice is shrill and fast and foreign even to my own ears. I gasp for more air, trying to calm myself.

“Okay. Point taken. You’re hurt.”

“Damn right, I’m hurt! I’m hurt by the one man who’s supposed to not hurt me! I just … I can’t even!” I throw my right arm in the air at nothing in particular. I can’t believe this is happening right now.

“Don’t you mean how much can’t, can a white girl can’t, if a white girl literally couldn’t even?”

Grrr! “It’s not the time for jokes, T,” I clip harshly.

“I know. I’m sorry. I’m just trying to make you laugh. Do you want me to come over? We could eat our feelings and figure this out together?”

“No. I just want to be alone right now. And not just because I’m only a few weeks away from never being physically alone again.” I throw my head against the back of the couch and look at the ceiling. I’d give anything to feel numb right now. But I’m hot, sweaty, and feel like an asshole for not growing some balls and actually pressing him to talk to me. All of this could have been avoided. It should have been avoided. But our collective inability to actually confront the situation head on has left us in a hot, confused mess.

“Henley, you’re two of the most stubborn people I know. And you’re stubbornly in love with each other. You’ll get through this.”

I’m not sure about that last part. But I certainly hope she’s right. “I’ll talk to you later,” I whisper before turning off my phone, desperate to make my problems disappear.