His Reckoning, Her Reign

The heavy oak door of San Francisco City Hall felt cold under my fingers. I was waiting for Ethan. We were supposed to get our marriage license today.

My phone buzzed. A message from Ethan: "Running late. Emergency at the hospital." Typical. Dr. Ethan Miller, the respected neurosurgeon, always had an emergency.

But then, a new post from Chloe Davis, his research assistant, popped up. A photo: her, in our master suite, Ethan's arm around her. Another: a sonogram, tiny and gray, with a heart emoji. The caption read: "Future Dr. Miller coming soon! #blessed #surprise."