The baby kicked hard enough to make Emma inhale sharply.
But she did not move.
Onscreen, another explosion erupted while a fictional character shouted dramatically about betrayal, causing scattered laughter throughout the audience.
Emma almost laughed too.
Not because anything felt amusing.
But because betrayal always arrived in absurdly ordinary moments.
It never appeared while thunder crashed theatrically outside mansion windows.
It arrived while wearing maternity silk pants and carrying caramel popcorn.
It arrived while your husband discussed dismantling your future beside another woman during movie previews.
And somehow, that ordinary cruelty hurt infinitely worse.
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