Erased From the Birth Certificate

Eight months pregnant, in premature labor, I called my husband Eric Joyce over and over as they wheeled me toward the delivery room.

The line connected. Behind it, the noise of a karaoke lounge.

It was Maria Walker, the new girl at his company, who answered.

"Hey, hon, Eric's had a few too many. I've got him, don't worry."

Before I could get a word out, I heard Eric's voice from somewhere beside her, clearly not realizing the call had already gone through.

"Send my wife a message. Tell her the project's running late tonight. Don't let her wait up."