#Chapter 98: The Other Woman

Kayla I woke the next morning to a fresh snowfall outside, icicles dangling from the eaves of the house as evidence of the night’s freezing temperatures. The shed was already calling to me, the promise of a warm blanket and a book to soothe my nerves. Dressing quickly, I made my way downstairs and to the kitchen to pour myself a cup of coffee. But I was halfway toward the back door to the gardens when I heard it: the low murmur of voices, and the sound of the TV playing in the living room. It was awfully early for anyone to be up and watching TV, so I poked my head through the doorway to see who it was. I froze. There, on the screen, was a pregnant woman with long black hair and the deepest brown eyes I’d ever seen. She looked at least seven months pregnant, her hand brushing across her rounded belly. There was a wistful look in her teary eyes as she dabbed at them with a tissue. “I just wish I could talk to him,” she was saying, her voice choked by