My name is Rowan. I’m thirty-two years old, and I’m pregnant with my first baby.
Two weeks ago, I threw what might be the most explosive gender reveal party in the history of suburban backyard celebrations.
Not because I wanted to go viral. Not because I wanted applause or pity. Not because I cared what the neighbors thought.
I did it because my husband, Blake, somehow believed that sleeping with my sister Harper could coexist with rubbing my pregnant belly and calling me his whole world.
And if there’s one thing pregnancy teaches you—fast—it’s that your body can hold more than one truth at a time.
It can hold a growing life.
And it can hold a growing rage.
1. The Man Everyone Said I Was Lucky To Have
Blake and I had been together eight years. Married for three. Long enough that our relationship had become a story people liked repeating back to us like it was theirs.
We were “the couple.”
