Bowie knew it wasn’t her birthday, and it wasn’t their anniversary, either.

It was the middle of the week. In their 20 years of marriage, Hal had only taken her out for dinner on special occasions.

He didn’t even complain when she added shrimp to her fettucine alfredo and he was the one who suggested that she order another Long Island Iced Tea.

Something was wrong, and Bowie knew it.

Hal was jittery, but it wasn’t just nervousness. There was a layer of excitement beneath his shifting eyes.

The final straw was when he asked, “Do you want dessert?”

“What’s this about, Hal? You know you can tell me anything.”

He sighed. Reached inside his breast pocket and pulled out an envelope.

Bowie opened it. Inside was a sonagram. Not hers. She’d looked at a lot of friends’ sonagrams. Never hers, though.

“Her name is Carma. She’s having my son.”