Reborn At Thirty-Five

My fifth miscarriage happened in my thirty-fifth year.

Our marriage, worn thin by mutual exhaustion, finally reached its end. We signed the divorce papers quietly, without a fight.

It wasn't long before my ex-husband, William, was with a college girl in her early twenties. She got pregnant almost immediately.

When I moved out of the mansion that was once a symbol of our happiness, only his assistant was there to help. He was a handsome young man, sharp and fit in tailored trousers, hauling heavy boxes back and forth, his brow glistening with a light sweat.