I locked my wife in the pantry under the stairs

for her where she was supposed to be: by the wall, on the boxes, on the floor, angry, crying, alive. But there were only scattered things, dust, an overturned can of paint, and her wedding ring.

On the floor.

Beside it was the positive pregnancy test.

On the back, written in blue pen, were the words:

“Seven weeks. If I don’t get out, at least our child continue reading …