“Seth...?” I say it again, louder this time. “Seth...”

The moon is bright outside the bedroom window, and its glow illuminates my husband’s face as he slowly opens his eyes. I’ve interrupted his sleep, but he doesn’t look angry. Earlier, Seth stood behind me and wrapped his arms around my waist, kissing my neck slowly, as we looked out at the city below. I must have forgiven him sometime between his bowl of ramen and our lovemaking, because the only thing I feel for him at the moment is intense love.

“Yes?” His voice is heavy with sleep and I reach out to touch his cheek.

“Are you angry with me for what happened to our baby?”

He rolls onto his back and I can no longer see every detail of his face, just the slant of his nose and one blue-green eye.

“It’s midnight,” he says, like I don’t already know.

“I know that,” I say softly. For good measure, I add, “I can’t sleep.”

He sighs, rubbing a hand over his face.

“I was angry,” he admits. “Not at you...at life...the universe...God.”

“Is that why you found Monday?” It takes all of my courage to form those words into a sentence. I feel as if I’ve cut open my own chest and splayed out my heart.

“Monday hasn’t replaced you,” he says after some time. “I want you to believe that my commitment to you is real.” He reaches out a hand and caresses my face, the warmth of his palm reassuring. “Things didn’t quite pan out the way we wanted, but we’re still here and what we have is real.”

He hasn’t really answered my question. I lick my lips, thinking of a way to rephrase. My footing in our marriage is unsteady, my new purpose unclear.

“We could have adopted,” I say. Seth turns his face away.

“You know that’s not what I want.” His voice is clipped. End of story. I’d brought up the topic of adoption before, and he’d immediately dismissed it.

“What if the same thing happened to Monday...that happened to me?”

His head snaps right so he’s looking at me again, but this time there’s no kindness in his eyes. I’m startled by it.

“Why would you say that? That’s a terrible thing to imagine.” He pushes himself to a sitting position, so I do, leaning back on my elbows until we’re both staring at the bay windows and the stars beyond.

“I—I didn’t mean it like that,” I say quickly, but Seth is flustered.

“She’s my wife. What do you think I’d do?”

I bite my lip, gripping the sheets in my fists; such a stupid thing to say, especially after things had been going so well all evening.

“It’s just...you left me. You found her after...”

He stares straight ahead, not really seeing anything. I see the muscles in his jaw jump.

“You knew I wanted children. And I’m here. I’m right here with you.”

“But are you?” I argue. “You need two other women—”

“Enough.” He cuts me off. He gets out of bed and reaches for his pants. “I thought we were done with this.”

I watch as he steps into them, not bothering to button them when he pulls on his shirt.

“Where are you going, Seth? Look, I’m sorry. I just—”

He walks toward the door and I swing my legs over the side of the bed determined not to let him leave. Not like this.

I throw myself at him, grabbing onto his arm and trying to pull him back. It happens in an instant, his hand shoving me away. Caught off guard, I fall backward. My ear clips the nightstand before I land on my rear on the wood floor. I cry out but Seth has already left the bedroom. I raise my hand to my ear and feel the warm trickle of blood on my fingertips, just as I hear the front door slam closed. I flinch at the sound, not because it’s overly loud, but because of the anger behind it. I shouldn’t have done that, woken him up in the middle of the night and put thoughts of dying babies in his head. What happened wasn’t just hard on me; Seth had lost his child, as well. I stand up, wobbling on my feet. Squeezing my eyes closed, I cup my bleeding ear and wait for the dizziness to pass, then I walk slowly to the bathroom, flicking on the light to assess the damage. There is a centimeter-long cut on the outside of my ear, running parallel to the cartilage. It stings. I clean it with an alcohol wipe and dab some Neosporin on the wound. It’s already stopped bleeding, but not hurting. When I return to the bedroom I stare at the bed for a long time, empty, the sheets rumpled. Seth’s pillow still holds the indentation where his head rested.

“He’s under so much stress,” I say out loud as I climb into bed. I think my problems and insecurities are extreme, but I only have one man to keep happy. Seth has three women: three sets of problems, three sets of complaints. I’m sure we all pressure him in different ways: Monday and her baby, Tuesday and her career...me and my feelings of inferiority. I pull my knees up to my chest, unable to close my eyes. I wonder if he’ll go back to Hannah. Or maybe it will be Regina this time.

I tell myself that I won’t search for them online, that I’ll respect Seth’s privacy, but I know it’s not true. I’ve already crossed a line, befriended his other wife. Tomorrow, I will type their names into a search box so I can see who they claim to be. So I can study their eyes, search for regret, hurt...or anything that looks similar to what’s in my own eyes.

   NINE

Regina Coele is tiny, maybe five feet on a good day. I walk away from my laptop where it rests on the kitchen counter, and pull open the freezer. It’s only ten o’clock, but I need something stronger than the Coke I poured to drink with breakfast. I pull a bottle of vodka from where it’s wedged between a bag of frozen peas and frostbitten hamburger patties. I study the photo of her on Markel & Abel’s website: a family law firm with two offices, one in downtown Portland and one in Eugene. In the website photo, she wears dark-rimmed glasses perched on a slightly upturned nose. If not for the smear of red lipstick and her sophisticated hairstyle, she’d easily be mistaken for a girl in her late teens. I top off my juice with the vodka and add a few cubes of ice to the tumbler. Most women would feel fortunate to have such a youthful appearance. But I imagine that in Regina’s line of work, she needs clients to respect her, not question if she’s old enough to drink. The orange juice does little to disguise the heavy pour of vodka. I suck my teeth, deciding what to do next. I told myself that I just needed to see her, just one quick look. I’d made the silent promise even as I typed her name into the search box, but now that I’m looking at her I just want to know more. I throw back the rest of the vodka and the juice and pour another before carrying my laptop to the living room.