Free The Key Ingredient by Susan Wiggs

lipstick. Shoot. She wanted to look nice when she told him she was going to be the mother of his child. Never mind, she told herself. Martin didn’t care about lipstick.
    She quickly entered the code on the keypad and let herself in.
    The first thing she noticed was the smell. Something soapy, floral. There was music playing, cheesy music. “Hanging by a Thread,” a song she used to sing at the top of her lungs when no one was around, because the right cheesy love song only made a person feel more in love.
    A narrow thread of light came from a gap under the window shades. She pushed her sunglasses up on her head and let her eyes adjust. She started to call out to Martin, but her gaze was caught by something out of place.
    A cell phone lay on the makeup station shelf. It wasn’t Martin’s phone, but Melissa’s. Annie recognized the blingy pink casing.
    And then there was that moment. That sucker-­punch feeling of knowing, but not really knowing. Not wanting to know.
    Annie stopped breathing. She felt as if her heart had stopped beating, impossible though that was. Her mind whirled through options, thoughts darting like a mouse in a maze. She could back away right now, slip outside, rewind the moment, and . . .
    And do what? What? Give them fair warning, so they could all go back to pretending this wasn’t happening?
    An icy stab of anger propelled her forward. She went to the workstation area, separated from the entryway by a folding pocket wall. With a swipe of her arm, she shoved aside the screen to reveal the big L-­shaped sofa.
    He was straddling her, wearing nothing but the five-­hundred-­dollar cowboy boots.
    â€œHey!” he yelped, rearing back, a cowboy on a bucking bronc. “Oh, shit, Jesus Christ.” He scrambled to his feet, grabbing a fringed throw to cover his crotch.
    Melissa gasped and clutched a couch cushion against her. “Annie! Oh my God—­”
    â€œReally?” Annie scarcely recognized the sound of her own voice. “I mean, really ?”
    â€œIt’s not—­”
    â€œWhat it seems, Martin?” she bit out. “No. It’s exactly what it seems.” She backed away, her heart pounding, eager to get as far from him as possible.
    â€œAnnie, wait. Babe, let’s talk about this.”
    She turned into a ghost right then and there. She could feel it. Every drop of color drained away until she was transparent.
    Could he see that? Could he see through her, straight into her heart? Maybe she had been a ghost for a long time but hadn’t realized it until this moment.
    The feeling of betrayal swept through her. She was bombarded by everything. Disbelief. Disappointment. Horror. Revulsion. It was like having an out-­of-­body experience. Her skin tingled. Literally tingled with some kind of electrical static.
    â€œI’m leaving,” she said. She needed to go throw up somewhere.
    â€œCan we please just talk about this?” Martin persisted.
    â€œDo you actually think there’s something to talk about?”
    She stared at the two of them a moment longer, perversely needing to imprint the scene on her brain. That was when the moment shifted.
    This is how it ends , she thought.
    Because it was one of those moments. A key moment. One that spins you around and points you in a new direction.
    This is how it ends.
    Martin and Melissa both began speaking at once. To Annie’s ears, it sounded like inarticulate babble. A strange blur pulsated at the edges of her vision. The blur was reddish in tone. The color of rage.
    She backed away, needing to escape. Plunged her hand into her bag and grabbed her keys. They were on a Sugar Rush key chain in the shape of a maple leaf, the distinctive shape making it easy to find in a hurry.
    Then she made a one-­eighty turn toward the door and walked out into the alley. Her stride was purposeful. Gaze straight ahead. Chin held high.
    That was probably the