Rachel’s husband, Mark, stepped inside slowly, his eyes locked on the tiny pajamas in my hands. “Rachel,” he said quietly, “why is there a child’s clothing in our house?” She covered her face and whispered, “Please, not like this.” My heart pounded. Mark’s voice cracked. “Three months of lies. Three months of you disappearing every Tuesday and Thursday. Tell me the truth right now.”

Rachel’s shoulders shook. Then she reached into her purse and pulled out a folded paper with a hospital logo at the top. “I was going to tell you both this weekend,” she said. “I couldn’t do it alone anymore.” Mark took the paper, and as he read it, his knees nearly gave out. He looked up at her, stunned, and then down at the pajamas, and a tear rolled down his cheek.