She had to get to work in an hour, so why was she baking at four in the morning.? Quality sleep wasn't a thing for her anymore, not since Brad had the local sheriff serve her divorce papers two weeks ago. He hadn't even had the guts to deliver them himself.
Becca swiped her damp forehead with her arm and flung the oven mitts off. She dropped down in a chair at the kitchen table and blew long ringlets out of her face. Time to get this over with.
"Petition without"—her voice caught in her throat—"minor children. Divorce, check. I am providing the following information about myself. That all looks right. I am providing the following information about the respondent. Date of birth, yep. Blah blah lived in the county, yeah. Lived in Wisconsin, yeah. Currently on active duty, no. Respondent is currently pregnant." The boxes for that line were left unchecked. Becca's throat tightened while phantom kicks in her belly unnecessarily reminded her of her loss. She picked up her pen and checked the "no" box.
On the next page, she read aloud. "I am providing the following information regarding children: No children were born to or adopted together by either party before or during our marriage. Jerk was confident enough to check no here."
Page after page, she worked her way through the documents until the last page—the signature that made it all official.
The timer beeped its squealing monotonous tone, and Becca set the pen down. A fresh baked tray of cookies emerged, and she scooped them onto the wire cooling rack. She stared at them, her eyes losing focus, and the moment they stopped steaming, she gathered a handful and returned to the table.
The pen dangled above the final line. What if this was just a glitch, a hasty overreaction? Brad had said many terrible things—things she would never forget. But grief does that to people. Most of their time together was fine, great even. Becca tried to recall their better times but came up empty. She scarfed down a cookie and immediately the tension in her body softened—just like the center of her favorite sweet gooeyness. She licked the chocolate off her lip.
A framed photograph across the room on the entryway table caught her eye. Becca's feet brought her over to it on their own accord. The house they'd shared was a small two-bedroom, one-bathroom, last updated in the 1980s, but Becca didn't mind. It was her home, their home, and big enough to start a family. They had agreed on one child, but Becca wanted at least five. With her husband gone and a dysfunctional uterus, now she couldn't have any.
She lifted the photograph of her and Brad smiling with arms wrapped around each other. They'd worn trendy activewear, name-brand sneakers, and coordinating bandannas on their foreheads. That day they were hiking the East River Trail, which was hardly a feat worth mentioning, since it was paved and snaked through the city. She'd met Brad while they were in college. She had been searching the unfamiliar boy's dorms for her study buddy in Animal Anatomy & Physiology when Brad's roommate bumped into her and knocked her head into the wall. Apologizing profusely, Travis had brought her into his dorm for a drink of water, and when she'd laid eyes on Brad, there was instant attraction. She'd been proud he was a mechanical engineering major. It wasn't the potential paycheck that impressed her—no, it was the brains. Or so she thought. With a critical mind, she'd expected he'd have interesting things to discuss or things they could build together and test on fun camping trips. She should've figured that being a video game kind of guy, Brad was never a fan of the outdoors, and after many years of excuses, this was the only photo of them on the only adventure they'd had in their two years of marriage.
As she held the weight of the wood frame in her hands, she realized Brad hadn't packed the photograph. Her eyes moved along the others on the table, and the ones hanging on the wall.
He didn't want it.
He didn't want any of them.
In a burst of hurt, Becca flung the photograph across the room, and the glass cover shattered against the wall. And like the pieces of her heart, the fragments were irreparable, abandoned, and forgotten.
She stalked back over to the table, mashed a cookie in her mouth, and while distracting herself with the fresh-baked softness, vigorously signed on the dotted line. But not too vigorously—she didn't want to tear up the documents and have to redo them all. Brad wasn't worth that much effort.
Her cell phone alarm chimed. "Oh, shit," she said with a mouthful. Becca rushed to the bedroom and threw on a scrub top and pink pants. Good thing most tops had busy patterns—super easy to look coordinated—which these days, the easier the better. Plus, they were so comfortable that Becca slept in them sometimes. She certainly wasn't trying to impress anyone. Becca ran a thick pick through her curls and shrugged. "Gonna have to do for today."
She double checked the oven was off before grabbing her purse and book and rushing out the door. Moments later, she ran back inside and scooped up another handful of cookies for the road. Becca's fingers drummed the steering wheel of her old Corolla. It wasn't fancy or new, and she didn't mind, but several times Brad had promised her car was going to be upgraded. She would've believed him if he hadn't crashed the last three cars he drove. To be fair, one was a drunk driver, one was a deer, but the third was his fault for running a red light.
She parked alongside the converted log cabin, next to the only other vehicle in the lot—her boss's SUV. Birds chirped their happy summer songs, and a delicate breeze pleasantly cooled Becca's sweaty morning. There hadn't been time for a shower, and Becca hadn't thought to spritz a little scent. If she were lucky, enough smelly patients would mask her funk. And since many of them did, in fact, have personal problems in the scent department, Becca popped into the side door without embarrassment or hesitation.
The cedar and pine of the cabin filled her nose while Becca crossed the back hallway and emerged alongside the large registration desk. It was too early for patients to arrive, so the waiting room's stiff chairs waited for duty like sentries. Verity was already at the registration desk, which meant Mathew must've been in his office. The two of them always came and left together. Becca kept her enviousness close to her chest—not that she had a thing for her boss. No, Becca wasn't interested in Dr. McCall in the slightest, but she certainly was wistful, thinking of what he and Verity had—what Becca had lost.
"Morning," Becca said.
"Hi, how are you?" Verity asked.
Becca inhaled a deep breath and swung her purse under the desk. She dropped into the rolling office chair, and it squeaked under her weight. She wondered if it were trying to tell her something. "One day at a time."
"I heard about Brad. I'm so sorry." Verity placed a bejeweled hand on Becca's wrist, and Becca fought the screaming urge to pull her arm away. She was happy for her co-worker, really she was, but it was crushing to be pitied. She'd rather spend her time ragging on how much of a jerk Brad was.
"I'm not sorry. He's a jerk anyway." Ha! "How was your honeymoon?"
Verity's cheeks pinked. Her unusually wild hair had been tamed with a curling iron, and the look was great on her. Her big doe-y green eyes turned to her with a sparkle of excitement.
"Amazing. I'm just flabbergasted at how incredible the California Gold Rush is—was—and I'm so glad I got to see it in modern times."