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First published June 17, 2020
As if to argue with me, a woman laughed behind the closed door of our bedroom. Her giggle soon turned into moans of pleasure that not only stole my breath, but also stole my ability to think or to place one foot in front of the other. Petrified, I just stood there.
“How long have you been seeing her?” I motioned toward the woman.
“Nearly a year,” he said.
“Sarah’s pregnant. She’s pregnant and she’s having my child. Our child. I love her and I want to marry her.”
“You will never have another yesterday,” I whispered to myself. Words I’d heard my mother say countless times. As a kid, I thought them as a beautiful poetic thought. As a teenager, I thought of them as annoying. And now, in my thirties, I suddenly realized exactly what she meant.