Cradle of Lies

The Lie

Nine months earlier

Dorothy watched Jake’s hands as he folded his shirts—the methodical way he creased each sleeve, the careful stack he was building in his duffel bag. Those hands had touched her face this morning. Had made her coffee yesterday. Had held her just three days ago when she’d cried about her mother.

Now they were packing to leave.

“You don’t have to do this,” she said, hating how small her voice sounded.

Jake didn’t look up. Another shirt joined the stack. “I do, Dot. We’ve been over this.”

“We can fix it. Whatever I did—”

“It’s not about one thing.” His voice was tired, not angry. That was worse somehow. Anger she could fight against. This exhausted resignation felt immovable. “It’s everything. The way you check my phone. The constant questions about where I am. Last week you showed up at my gym because I didn’t text you back fast enough.”

“I was worried—”

“I was in the shower for twenty minutes.” He finally met her eyes. “Dorothy, I can’t breathe around you anymore.”

The words landed like a slap. She wrapped her arms around herself, suddenly cold despite the early autumn chill seeping through the apartment windows. The couple upstairs was arguing again, their muffled voices bleeding through the ceiling. A car alarm wailed somewhere down the street. Normal sounds of a Friday evening. Everything was normal except her entire world was ending.

“I love you,” she whispered.

“I know.” He zipped the duffel closed with a sharp, final sound. “But that’s not enough. Love shouldn’t feel like drowning.”

Dorothy’s throat tightened. She’d heard those words before—different men, different apartments, same inevitable ending. Her college boyfriend: “You’re too intense.” The guy she dated for two years after nursing school: “I need someone more independent.” Even her father, when she was twelve and crying because he was moving to Arizona: “Baby, you’re suffocating your old man.”

They all left. Everyone always left.

She watched Jake move to the closet, pulling out his winter coat even though it was only September. Planning ahead. Making sure he got everything in one trip so he wouldn’t have to come back.

“Please.” She moved toward him, reaching for his arm. Her fingers caught the fabric of his sleeve. “Just give me one more chance. I’ll be better, I promise. I’ll stop checking your phone. I’ll give you space. Whatever you need—”

“You’ve said that before.” Jake gently pulled his arm free, not roughly, but firmly enough that she had to let go. “After the thing with my coworker. After you called my mom to see if I was really at her house. After—” He stopped, shook his head. “It doesn’t matter. The point is, nothing changes.”

“It will this time. I mean it.”

“You always mean it.” He folded the coat over his arm. “But a week later, two weeks later, we’re right back here. You going through my texts. Asking why I’m five minutes late. Needing to know exactly where I am every second of the day.”

“I just care about you—”

“No, Dot.” His voice was firm now, not tired anymore. “This isn’t about caring. This is about control. And I can’t live like this anymore.”

The truth of it hit her like cold water. He was right. She knew he was right. She’d known it every time she’d checked his phone while he was in the shower. Every time she’d driven by his work just to make sure his car was there. Every time she’d texted him twenty times in an hour and felt her anxiety spike higher with each unanswered message.

But knowing it and being able to stop it were two different things.

“I’ll go to therapy,” she said desperately. “I’ll talk to someone. Work on my issues—”

“You should do that.” He picked up his bag and slung it over his shoulder. “But do it for yourself, not for me. I can’t be your reason to get better.”

Without him, she’d be back to being nobody. Thirty-two years old, living alone in an apartment she couldn’t afford by herself, eating dinner in front of the TV, dodging her mother’s calls asking when she’d finally settle down. Going to work at the hospital where everyone knew about Jake, where they’d all ask what happened, where Lisa would give her that pitying look that said I told you so without saying it out loud.

She’d already told everyone at work about Jake. Shown them pictures of their weekend trip to the coast. Talked about how he was different from the others, how he was the one. How she was finally getting it right this time.

Her coworker Lisa had made that joke just last week: “Don’t smother him, Dot. Men need air.” She’d laughed it off, but Lisa’s eyes had been serious.

They all knew. Everyone could see what was wrong with her.

“Where will you go?” Her voice cracked.

“My brother’s place. Just until I find something.” Jake shifted the bag higher on his shoulder. “I’ll come back for the rest of my stuff this weekend. When you’re at work, maybe. Might be easier that way.”

Easier for him. He wouldn’t have to see her face, watch her fall apart. He could just pack up their shared life in cardboard boxes while she was checking cervical dilation and coaching women through contractions.

“What about the lease?” The practical question came out before she could stop it. “We just signed for another year.”

“I’ll keep paying my half until we figure something out.” He was already at the door now, hand reaching for the knob. “Or you can find a roommate. Whatever you want to do.”

Whatever she wanted. As if any of this was what she wanted.

“Jake, please—” She heard the desperation in her voice and hated it, but couldn’t stop. “Don’t do this. We can go to counseling. We can work on this together. I’ll do whatever it takes—”

“I need to go, Dot.” He was already turning the knob, the door cracking open to reveal the beige hallway beyond. The fluorescent lights flickering like they always did. Mrs. Chen’s wreath on the door across the hall. Everything so painfully normal.

His keys were jingling in his pocket—that sound used to make her smile, meant he was coming home to her. Now it meant he was leaving.

When had things been good? Their first date at that Italian place downtown—he’d laughed at all her jokes, told her she was beautiful. The night he asked her to move in with him six months later, how he’d said he couldn’t imagine waking up without her.

But when was the last time he’d looked at her like that? Three weeks? A month? Longer?

She’d felt him slipping away and had gripped tighter, which only made him pull harder. The harder she’d tried to hold on, the faster he’d run.

“I’m sorry,” she said, tears finally spilling over. “I’m sorry I’m like this. I don’t mean to be—I just—” She couldn’t finish. Didn’t know how to explain the gnawing fear that lived in her chest, the certainty that everyone she loved would eventually realize she wasn’t worth staying for.

Jake’s expression softened slightly. For a moment, she thought maybe he’d put down the bag. Maybe he’d cross the room and hold her and tell her it would be okay.

Instead, he said, “I’m sorry too.” His voice was gentle, which somehow made it worse. “I really am, Dot. I hope you find someone who can give you what you need. I’m just not that person.”

His hand was on the doorknob, pulling it wider.

This was it. In three seconds, he’d be in the hallway. In five minutes, he’d be in his car. In an hour, he’d be at his brother’s place, probably relieved to finally be free of her.

And she’d be alone. Again. Always.

“Jake, wait—”

He paused, hand still on the knob, but he didn’t turn around.

Dorothy’s mind was blank except for one thought: Make him stay.

The words came out before she could stop them. Before she could think about what they meant or what would happen after.

“I’m pregnant.”