Crissy was the first in a long line of girlfriends ending with Miranda. Now Michael was married, and his family only lived a short, ten-minute drive from Joanne’s apartment complex. At three in the morning, though, the roads were empty and she made the journey in under five minutes. Just in time, too—when she pulled to a stop in front of their gate, she saw Michael helping his very pregnant wife through the front door. Shelly huffed and puffed like the big bad wolf in that old children’s fairy tale, one hand on her large belly as she waddled towards her van.
Michael had an overnight bag slung over one shoulder and a worried look on his face. “There you are,” he said, skipping the niceties. “Her contractions are—”
“Goddamn!” Shelly cried, shattering the quiet night around them.
Joanne wa
