The lobby was busy. Nurses in soft-soled shoes moved between corridors. A child cried somewhere down the hall. The overhead fluorescents hummed their flat, institutional hum, washing everything in a light that hid nothing. And Dante stood in the middle of it all, his hand on the small of Cara Valente's back, his body angled toward hers like a shield.
At that moment, I realized it wasn't that he was too busy. He had never been too busy.
He didn't want to make an effort for the wife he'd been married to for seven years.
The understanding didn't arrive like a blow. It arrived like something settling into place, a bone clicking into a socket that had been empty for a long time. I pressed my thumb against the inside of my wedding ring, turning it slowly, and felt the truth sit in my chest like a stone dropped into still water.
"The doctor said you should eat less tonight and try to stay active." Dante's voice carried across the lobby, low and warm, the voice he used when he wanted someone to feel safe. I knew that voice. I had married that voice. "In the early stages of pregnancy, digestion can be tricky, so let's follow the advice this time, okay?"
Cara leaned into him, her lips pushing into a playful pout. "Aww, fine, I got it!" She swatted his arm lightly. "But it's your fault! You bought way too many dumplings."
"Alright, alright, I'll take the blame." He smiled. Dante Moretti smiled, and the fluorescent light caught the expression full on, and I saw every line of it. The softness around his eyes. The way his mouth relaxed. He looked younger. He looked like the man I thought I'd married. "It's my fault for making my sweetheart eat too much, okay?"
"That's better." Cara smirked, tilting her chin up. "Fine, I'll forgive you... this time."
They bantered like a real couple. Close and inseparable. Their bodies moved in the easy choreography of two people who had learned each other's rhythms, who reached for each other without thinking, who existed in a private world that had no room for anyone else.
And I stood under the hospital's harsh fluorescent lights, feeling like an intruder in my own life.
I was invisible to them.