Last night, my husband surprised me with a romantic dinner. He never does that. Never. We’ve been together for ten years, married for eight, and spontaneity isn’t exactly his strong suit. So when I walked in from work to find candles lit, our favorite music playing softly, and the scent of my favorite meal wafting from the kitchen, I was caught completely off guard.
We ate. We talked. He poured the good wine, the one we save for anniversaries. It was… perfect. Too perfect. As we finished our last sips of wine, a warmth settling in my stomach that felt dangerously close to happiness, I jokingly asked if something was up. Was he trying to butter me up for some big request?
He went silent.
The air in the room suddenly felt thick, heavy. His gaze dropped to his half-empty glass, and he swirled the wine slowly, avoiding my eyes. My smile faltered. My stomach, which moments ago felt warm and content, began to knot.
Then he spoke, his voice barely a whisper. He admitted he had been CHEATING!
The word hung in the air, a cruel, sharp shard of ice piercing through everything. I felt cold. Numb. My heart, which had been beating steadily, lurched and started to pound, an erratic drum against my ribs. Was this real? Was he joking? I must have looked confused, utterly broken, because he didn’t stop there.
It got worse. So much worse.
He mumbled, barely audible, that she might be PREGNANT!
My head snapped up. PREGNANT? My breath caught in my throat. I stood up, pushing the chair back with a scrape that echoed too loudly in the sudden silence. My vision blurred at the edges. My mind reeled, trying to grasp the impossible. No. NO. This couldn’t be happening. Not to us. Not after everything.
Before I could even react, before I could scream or cry or shatter into a million pieces, he pulled out his phone. His fingers trembled as he dialed. He put it on speaker, a horrible, sickening calm in his eyes.
“COME IN,” he said, his voice strangely flat.
I heard the front door open, a soft click, then footsteps on the hardwood floor. My heart hammered. Panic seized me. Who was it? Was it her? Was he really doing this to me, bringing her here, now?
I turned around.
The air vanished from my lungs. My knees buckled.
IT WAS MY MOTHER.
She stood in the doorway, her face pale, her eyes wide with a mixture of fear and something else… something that looked terrifyingly like shame. My own mother. The woman who birthed me. The woman who held me when I cried. The woman who was supposed to love me unconditionally.
My husband stood up, slowly, his eyes now fixed on her. On my mother. The realization hit me like a freight train, crushing every atom in my body. The cheating. The pregnancy. It wasn’t just some stranger. It was HER.
NO.
I felt a guttural scream tear through my throat, but no sound came out. Only a raw, agonizing tearing sensation. The world tilted. My vision went black.
