She did leave me, though. Physically, she was still living in the house. We were still sleeping in the same bed. Her body was not mine. But did her heart go searching for a new caretaker?

That’s the part that doesn’t make sense. If so, why the carpenter? She doesn’t seem the caregiver type.

Was it just about *****? Was that the place where I was failing her?

There were some levels of intimacy that were difficult for me after the miscarriage. Surely she understood that. Surely she could have waited for me.

The ironic thing is that if only she hadn’t gone searching, she would be benefiting from the second trimester. I think it’s the hormone levels, but I find myself ready almost all the time. Even with all the other changes in my body that aren’t making me feel so desirable, my level of desire is always at high.

And this could get me into trouble. I already wanted to give in, just for a moment, to Joyce. I didn’t want ***** with her. I didn’t even want her slobbering on my face. But I did want someone at that moment. And she was there. And she was certainly willing.

I can’t do that. I should be able to, if it were someone I desired. But there’s still a nagging question of Bette. Does this put me on her level? Am I doing this to get even?

Joyce was right about one thing. I’m *****. No money. No place to live. Unable to take a next step into life. A step that Bette was already taking before we even split up.

Once upon a time, I used to think of Bette as my first, last, and forever. How naive was that?

Now, it’s back to me, and the baby. I need so many things. I need clothes. What I have, what I took from the house, I mostly stored with friends. I’m outgrowing clothes at an alarming rate. How am I going to pay for the maternity wear?

The cloak and poncho look isn’t going to hide the baby much longer. I’m surprised it’s hidden her for as long as it has. Maybe everyone is like Alice, and just thinks I’m eating my pain.