But the invitation arrived that very night. Not to me. To my email.

David, clumsy from desperation, had used my account to print some invoices and left the venue’s session open. “Event Confirmation: Valerie’s Baby Shower. Private Garden, Greenwich. Saturday, 5:00 p.m.” Attachments: menu, decoration, deposit.

There were hors d’oeuvres, a dessert table, blush-pink flowers, and a massive sign: “Welcome, Matthew.”

Matthew. Our baby. That “our” was no longer a word. It was a knife.

Saturday dawned clear, with that May sun that beats down on New York as if it wants to bake even the cracks in the pavement. I put on a loose, comfortable black dress and tied my hair back. My mom would have scolded me for going out seven months pregnant to confront someone else’s mess, but my mom also would have been the first to put on her earrings and say: “Let’s go see the looks on their faces.”

Paige picked me up. She brought a folder, two fully charged phones, and the dangerous serenity of a lawyer who has already smelled blood. —”You’re not going to say too much,” she warned me. —”I’m not promising anything.” —”Then promise not to go into labor there.” —”Now that isn’t up to me.”

We arrived in Greenwich just as the blooming trees had dropped purple carpets over the sidewalks. The garden was behind a massive house with hydrangeas at the entrance and valet parking for people who said the word “vendors” with disdain.

Laughter could be heard from outside. I walked in without knocking.

There were beige and gold balloons, centerpieces with flowers surely bought at a premium florist, and a dessert table so perfect it made me nauseous. Macarons, onesie-shaped cookies, cupcakes with the name Matthew.

I saw David next to Valerie. She was wearing a tight white dress, a pink sash over her belly, and her hair down in loose waves. She didn’t look surprised to see him standing proudly with his hand on her belly.

But she did look surprised to see me.

The music dropped as if someone had pulled an invisible plug. David went pale. —”Maya.”

Everyone turned around. Alice was sitting near the main table, wearing a pearl necklace and a frozen smile. Upon seeing me, she stood up so fast she almost knocked over her sparkling water. —”What are you doing here?” she said.

I walked forward slowly. Every step hurt my back, but I wasn’t going to stop. —”I came to congratulate the family.”

Valerie let out a nervous little laugh. —”David, what is this?”

I looked at her. She was young, maybe not as young as I had imagined. She had big eyes, perfect nails, and that fake confidence of women who think winning a married man is a victory. —”Are you Valerie?”

She lifted her chin. —”Yes.” —”What a beautiful party. My three thousand eight hundred and fifty dollars went a long way.”

A murmur crossed the garden. David walked toward me. —”Let’s go.” —”No.” —”Maya, don’t make a scene.” —”How curious. You managed to organize one.”

Paige stood by my side, silent. Her presence was my handrail.

David tried to grab my arm. —”I said we’re leaving.” Paige took a step forward. —”Do not touch her.”

He recognized her immediately. —”You.” —”Me,” she said. “And I strongly recommend you measure your next move very carefully in front of witnesses.”

Alice walked over, her face red. —”This woman is hysterical. She’s pregnant, poor thing. She doesn’t know what she’s saying.”

I opened my purse. I pulled out some papers. It wasn’t all the evidence. Paige didn’t let me bring originals. But they were enough to turn the garden into a courtroom.

—”Transfer to my account with the memo for Valerie and her baby,” I said, holding up the first page. “Messages where Valerie acknowledges the mistake. A message where she mentions that you, Alice, were going to convince me to sign the house papers after the delivery.”

Alice stepped back. —”That is a lie.”

—”I also have bank statements. Charges on my card. Payments to the venue. Decorations. Furniture rentals.”

Valerie looked at David as if she were just realizing that the man who promised her a kingdom had paid for it with his wife’s credit card. —”David,” she whispered, “you said you were separated.”

I felt a strange thud in my chest. Not pity. Not exactly. It was exhaustion.

—”He said the same thing to everyone,” I replied.

David gritted his teeth. —”That’s enough.” —”No. I’m just getting started.”

Then Valerie did something I didn’t expect. She took her hand off her belly. —”I didn’t know about the house.”

David turned toward her. —”Shut up.”

The word landed horribly. Dry. Mine, hers, every woman’s.

Valerie froze, but then her eyes filled with a different kind of rage. —”Don’t speak to me like that.”