My Ex-Husband at the Operating Table with Triplets

The hospital corridor's fluorescent lights were a harsh, glaring white, exactly like the divorce certificate she'd picked up just a month ago, tucked inside Rosalie's bag. In her hand she gripped a thin lab report, her knuckles pale from the pressure. All around her, pregnant women and their families came and went, their faces glowing with the joy of the parenthood ahead. Only she looked like an intruder who didn't belong, curled into the corner of a row of chairs, shivering with cold.