I only back one suitcase, I can come back for the rest later.

But then there came a step on the stairs, and a small cough, and I try to ignore it but he says,
“You should come with me. We could go out for a real meal.”

And my better judgment is telling me to stay. But I go. I go out to the mall, I go out to dinner, and I hold his hand across the table. I go for a walk and he wraps his arms around my belly and smiles. The whole night is filled with whispers and kisses and everything young love is supposed to be. And the affair doesn’t matter anymore. It has to be over. He came back for me because it’s over.

He stayed faithful through Christmas and New Years. The vague errands ceased. The pager stopped ringing in the middle of the night. The baby’s room got painted. And I forgot the affair had ever occured.

But two weeks into February he was gone. He packed all his things all at once and he left. And he never came back.

And my only regret is that I didn’t leave first.