The Woman in My Back Seat

At 10:47 on a Thursday night, my fiancé climbed into the back seat of my car with his arm around a pregnant woman.

I knew it was Brandon before he looked up.

Five minutes earlier, he had texted me.

“Still buried at work. Don’t wait up.”

Now he was sitting directly behind me in a navy button-down I had ironed that morning.

The woman beside him was maybe twenty-seven. She wore a cream sweater over a very obvious pregnancy bump. Brandon’s hand rested around her waist.

Neither of them recognized me at first.

That was partly because I was wearing a baseball cap, and partly because Brandon believed I was home in our apartment in Columbus.

He didn’t know I had started driving nights.

I had been doing it for four months.

Our wedding was supposed to be in December, and the venue deposit had been larger than expected. Brandon kept saying money was tight, so after my regular office job, I drove three or four nights a week.

Every extra dollar went into our wedding account.

The woman leaned forward.

“The Ashford Hotel, please.”

I looked at Brandon in the rearview mirror.

His face changed.

He stopped breathing for a second.

“Claire?”

The woman turned toward him.

“You know her?”

I put the car in drive.

“Where did you say you were going?”

“The Ashford.”

“Okay.”

Brandon leaned forward.

“Claire, pull over.”

“Why?”

“Just pull over.”

The woman looked between us.

“Brandon, who is this?”

He didn’t answer.

At the next red light, she noticed my left hand on the steering wheel.

“Oh my God, your ring is beautiful.”

I looked down.

The oval diamond had been on my finger for almost two years.

She held up her own hand.

“Look. They’re almost twins.”

They were.

Not identical, but close enough that I knew immediately who had chosen hers.

My hands stayed on the wheel.

“When are you getting married?” she asked.

Brandon said my name again.

“Claire.”

I watched the light turn green.

“I’m not.”

The woman gave a small laugh.

“Sorry?”

“I’m not getting married anymore.”

Nobody spoke for the next block.

Then she touched Brandon’s arm.

“Honey, are you okay?”

Honey.

I looked into the mirror again.

“How far along are you?”

She smiled politely.

“Almost six months.”

“Congratulations.”

“Thank you. We weren’t exactly planning it this soon after the wedding, but life happens.”

My foot came off the accelerator slightly.

“Wedding?”

She looked confused.

“Ours.”

Brandon reached for the door handle even though we were moving.

“Claire, stop the car.”

I ignored him.

“When did you get married?”

The woman was staring at me now.

“Last month.”

Brandon finally spoke.

“Hannah, please.”

She pulled away from him.

“Why does she know your name?”

I drove the remaining six minutes to the hotel.

Brandon kept telling me to stop.

I didn’t.

When we reached the entrance, Hannah opened her door but didn’t get out.

“Who are you?”

I turned around for the first time.

“Ask your husband.”

Then I looked at Brandon.

“Your things will be downstairs tomorrow. Don’t come back to the apartment.”

Hannah stared at him.

Brandon jumped out and ran around to my window.

“Claire, wait.”

I pulled away.

He ran after the car until I reached the end of the hotel driveway.

Then I stopped.

Not because I wanted an explanation.

I wanted him to say it clearly.

He opened the passenger door and climbed in.

“It isn’t what you think.”

I looked at him.

“She’s pregnant.”

“I know.”

“She’s your wife.”

He rubbed both hands over his face.

“It happened when I was drunk. Once. She got pregnant.”

“You accidentally married her too?”

“My parents pressured me. You know what they’re like.”

I removed my engagement ring and placed it in the cup holder.

Brandon watched me do it.

“Claire, don’t do this.”

“Get out.”

“I was going to fix it.”

“How?”

He hesitated.

That hesitation told me more than the rest.

“After the baby was born, I was going to figure things out.”

“Meaning?”

“I was going to come home.”

I looked toward the hotel entrance.

Hannah was still standing under the awning.

One hand was pressed against her stomach.

“You already had a home.”

“Claire—”

“Get out of my car.”

He didn’t move.

I reached across him and opened the door.