He began throwing silk shirts into his leather valise. “I thought I could mold you. I thought I could polish you up, teach you how to hold a fork, how to speak to senators. But you can’t polish trash, can you?”

I sank onto the edge of the king-sized bed, the site of our intimacy just nights prior. “You said you loved my family. You said they were warm. Authentic.”

“I lied,” he said simply, zipping the bag. “I was young. I made a mistake. And now I’m correcting it.”

Panic, cold and sharp, pierced through my shock. I scrambled for the pregnancy test on the floor. This was the lifeline. This would bring him back.

“Sterling, wait. I’m pregnant. We’re going to have a baby.”

He froze. For a second, I saw a flicker in his eyes—shock, perhaps? A memory of humanity? But then the ice returned, thicker than before.