Three years in, we still hadn't conceived. Every month she came home from the clinic paler, smaller, quieter. And then one spring evening, Linda walked back into my life. Bronze skin. The same lush, full curves I'd remembered from before Marianna. A divorce decree in her purse.
I was in her bed before midnight.
I told myself it would happen once.
Then twice. Then a hundred times. I told myself Marianna would never know.
But Linda knew first, because Linda was pregnant.
I should have left one of them. I left neither.
When the baby came, I named her Rebecca, and I rented Linda an apartment on the other side of the city. When Marianna miraculously conceived later that same year, I told Linda exactly what was going to happen next. If she wanted Rebecca to grow up in a real house, wearing
