Not him.
He lowered the phone.
For years, Mark had believed there were certain things in life that belonged to him automatically.
His side of the bed.
His place at the dinner table.
Emily’s patience.
Her explanations.
Her willingness to smooth awkwardness over after he disappointed her.
And fatherhood.
He had assumed that no matter where he was when the triplets arrived, he would eventually walk into a hospital room and somebody would hand him a baby.
He had never considered that trust could expire before a marriage legally did.
He drove home too quickly, then forced himself to slow down.
The house looked exactly as it had that morning.
Three car seats had been installed across the back seat of Emily’s SUV in the driveway.
The sight made him stop.
He walked toward them.
Each seat was empty.
Inside the house, the silence felt wrong.
Three bassinets stood in the living room because Emily had insisted it would be easier during the first few months.
Folded blankets filled a basket beside the couch.
Three tiny knitted hats rested on the coffee table.
Pink.
Yellow.
Lavender.
Girls.
Mark sat down.
Three daughters.
His daughters.
He picked up the yellow hat.
A card fell from beneath it.
Emily’s handwriting covered the front.
Faith.
He reached for the others.
Grace.
Lily.
Their names.
Names he had known, technically.
Emily had mentioned them dozens of times.
He had even approved them.
But standing in the empty house, Mark realized he could not remember which name belonged to which middle name.
He opened his messages and scrolled backward.
Emily had sent photographs weeks ago of three embroidered blankets.
Grace Elizabeth.
Lily Anne.
Faith Rose.
He pressed the heel of his hand against his forehead.
A car pulled into the driveway.
For one hopeful second, he stood.
Then his mother entered.
Margaret Carter had always adored Emily.
Mark knew this.
He simply had not understood how much until he saw his mother’s face.
“You came home.”
“Mom, where’s Emily?”
Margaret set her purse on the counter.
“I don’t know.”
