She put her hand on her stomach, and as she measured the fat padding that was now there, she felt so damned dumb for sitting on her ass eating ice cream with Layla. She wasn't any closer to her needing--whenever, if ever, that came, it was clearly going to be on its own schedule. All she'd done was make her pants tight and drive a wedge between herself and her husband. In the words of Dr. Phil, How's that working for ya? Great, Phil. Just awesome. -Beth's thoughts