Emmitt always said the feed store was the best place to get a decent cup of coffee in the county. He left every Tuesday at 6:14 in the morning, like clockwork. I never questioned it. I was usually busy getting the house in order or checking the garden rows before the sun got too high. It felt like a normal, steady life.

I guess I was just blind to the signs. The smell of jasmine perfume started clinging to his flannel shirts whenever he came back. I figured he was just walking past the cosmetic counter at the pharmacy on his way out. Then I noticed the bank statements. A recurring charge for four hundred and thirty-seven dollars kept popping up every month.

I thought he was buying new equipment. Maybe some specialized tools for the shop. I didn’t want to be the kind of wife who policed every penny he spent. We had been married for forty-two years. You reach a point where you stop counting the small things because you trust the person standing next to you.

Anyway, things took a turn last Thursday. I went into the garage to find a screwdriver. The place was a mess, as usual. I shifted a heavy box of old bolts and my hand brushed against something soft. I pulled it out. It was a tiny yellow sleeper with little ducks on it.

My heart just stopped. I looked further back, reaching behind his workbench.

My fingers closed around a plastic stick. A pregnancy test. It was positive.

I didn’t scream. I didn’t even cry at first. I just sat down on that cold, oil-stained concrete floor and felt like my whole life was tipping over. I spent three hours just staring at that yellow fabric. I felt like I was watching a stranger’s life play out in my head.

Emmitt came home at his usual time that evening. He smelled like coffee and that faint, sweet scent of jasmine. I had the sleeper laid out on the kitchen table, right in the center of the placemat. I didn’t even look up when he walked in.

I waited until he set his keys on the counter. The metal clatter sounded like a gunshot in the quiet room. I finally looked at him. My voice was shaky, but I managed to get it out.

“Who is she?”

He didn’t even blink. He didn’t act surprised or try to hide it. He just reached into his shirt pocket and pulled out a folded piece of thermal paper. He laid it right next to the sleeper. It was a sonogram.

“I have been meeting Odette on Tuesdays,” he said. His voice was flat. “She is due in May. She was too scared to call you. The perfume is hers. She cried and asked me to tell you that she never meant for this to happen.”