He Forgot My Peaches, But Remembered His Mistress's Dog

The floor tilted under me.

I grabbed the doorframe. My nails dug into the wood.

"Pregnant," I repeated. The word tasted like metal.

Sam didn't come to me. He crossed the room in two long strides and slid an arm around Chloe's waist, careful, like she was made of glass.

"Hey. Sit down, sweetheart. Don't stand so fast."

Sweetheart.

He eased her onto the edge of the bed. Then he turned and glared at me over his shoulder.

"Are you happy now? You stormed in here screaming. She's in her first trimester, Hannah. Stress isn't good for her."

"I didn't scream."

"You threw food in the trash and tossed your ring at a pregnant woman."

"I tossed it at *you*."

Chloe pressed a hand to her forehead. "Sam, I feel a little dizzy."

"See?" He rubbed her back in slow circles. "Just go home. Please."

My eyes burned. I bit the inside of my cheek until the sting won.

I didn't give them my tears. I walked out past the receptionist, who suddenly found her keyboard fascinating.

---

The penthouse was silent when I got back.

I dragged my old rolling suitcase out of the hall closet. It still had a luggage tag from a food festival in Lyon. Seven years old.

I opened the bedroom closet. My chef's whites hung in the back, pressed and untouched.

I had one sleeve in my hand when the elevator chimed.

Voices filled the foyer. A man's cough. A woman's sharp, familiar laugh.

"Hannah? Are you home?"

Margaret Rourke.

I stepped into the living room. My mother-in-law stood in her camel coat, pearls at her throat. Behind her was Sam's father, Richard, already checking his phone. And behind *him*, holding a tiny dachshund in a sweater, was Chloe.

Sam came in last. He set down a monogrammed overnight bag that wasn't mine.

"What is she doing here?"

Margaret peeled off her gloves one finger at a time. "Don't take that tone. Chloe is carrying my grandchild."

I turned to Sam. "You told them?"

"Two weeks ago," Richard said, not looking up.

Two weeks. They'd sat across from me at Sunday dinner. Margaret had complimented my duck.

"You knew," I said to her. "And you asked me for the recipe."

"It was good duck." She shrugged. "That doesn't change facts. Six years, Hannah. Six years and nothing. I've been patient."

"We were trying."

"*You* were trying. Clearly the problem was never my son." She waved a hand toward Chloe like she was presenting a prize. "Now we have a solution. You should be grateful it's happening at all."

"Grateful."

"Yes. Grateful. Most women in your position would be thrown out."

Chloe cuddled the puppy against her chest and gave me a soft, sorry look. It didn't reach her eyes.

Margaret walked straight past me toward the hallway. "The master gets the morning sun. That's best for her. We'll need a humidifier in there. And new sheets. Not those gray ones."

My stomach dropped. "The master bedroom is *my* bedroom."

"It's Sam's apartment."

I spun on my husband. "Say something."

Sam loosened his tie. He looked at the floor, then at me.

"Chloe's health isn't great. The doctor wants her to rest. You move into the guest room for now. Once the baby's born, we'll figure it out."

"Figure it out," I said. "Like what? A rotating schedule?"

"Don't be dramatic."

"You're moving your mistress into our bed, and I'm dramatic?"

Margaret came back into the room, smoothing her coat. "Since you're staying, you'll be useful. Chloe needs proper meals. Low sodium. High folate. Fresh fish twice a week, but nothing with mercury."

I stared at her.

"You want me to cook for her."

"You don't work. You haven't worked in years." She said it like reading a grocery list. "Cooking is the one thing you're good for. So do it."

Richard finally glanced up. "Margaret."

"What? It's true."

Something cold settled behind my ribs. I almost laughed again.

Chloe set Peanut down. He trotted over and sniffed my shoes. She reached into her purse and pulled out a folded sheet of paper.

"Oh, Mrs. Rourke, you'll need this for the menu." She flicked it onto the coffee table in front of me. "Morning sickness is awful. The only thing I keep down is fruit."

I picked it up.

An order confirmation. Okayama Prefecture. Shimizu Hakuto white peaches. Quantity: one case. Twenty-four pieces. Express air freight.

Ordered by Sam Rourke. Last Tuesday.

Last Tuesday, I'd asked him at breakfast. He'd said *tomorrow*.

"He got me a whole box," Chloe said, smiling. "He said I could have as many as I want."

My hands started shaking. Not from sadness. From something hotter.

I tore the paper in half.

Then in quarters. Then smaller, until it was confetti, and I let it rain onto the rug at Chloe's feet.

"Hannah!" Sam snapped.

"I'm not cooking for her." My voice came out steady. Steadier than I felt. "I'm not moving to the guest room. And I am not raising your mistress's baby with my own two hands."

The slap came out of nowhere.

Margaret's palm cracked across my cheek. My head snapped sideways. Her ring caught my lip, and I tasted copper.

"How dare you," she hissed. "A hen that can't lay a single egg, and you think you get to make demands?"

The room went silent. Peanut whimpered and backed under the sofa.

I touched my mouth. My fingers came away red.

I looked at Sam. I waited. For one second, I still believed he'd step in.

He sighed.

"Apologize to my mother, Hannah."

Chloe hid a smile behind her hand.

I wiped the blood off my lip with my thumb. Slowly. I made sure he watched.

"Sam," I said quietly. "You know what I regret most?"

He frowned.

"It isn't marrying you." I picked up my suitcase handle. "It's giving up myself for you."

For once, he had nothing to say.

---

I spent the night in a cheap hotel near Penn Station. The sheets smelled like bleach. I didn't sleep.

At midnight, I called Daniel Okafor, a family lawyer who used to eat at my restaurant every Friday.

"Hannah Moreau? God, it's been years."

"I need a divorce, Daniel. Fast."

He didn't ask why. "Come to my office at ten."

At nine-forty the next morning, my phone buzzed before I reached his building.

"Hannah, don't come up yet." His voice was tight. "Where are you right now?"

"Outside. Why?"

"Sam's lawyers filed an emergency motion with the court at eight a.m. They're asking to freeze your access to every joint marital account."

The street noise seemed to fall away.

"He can do that?"

"He's trying. And Hannah…" Daniel paused. "Check your personal card."

I pulled it out at the coffee cart on the corner. The vendor swiped it.

Then again.

He handed it back with a pitying shrug.

"Declined, lady."