This is my life: a constant juggling act. Two beautiful, chaotic kids under seven. A corporate job that demands my soul, where I claw my way up, always feeling like I’m one wrong move from falling. My husband knows this. He’s always said he understands. He was my partner. Or so I thought. Six months ago, I booked a work retreat. Two days, out of town. Crucial for my career trajectory, a chance to shine, to prove I’m executive material. He knew every detail. We planned around it. Childcare was sorted. Everything was fine. More than fine. It was solid.
Then he took off. A spontaneous trip abroad. “Just need to clear my head,” he’d said, smiling, booking the tickets on a whim. A part of me was jealous, honestly. That freedom. He came back last week, and… he was different. A little distant. A little too quiet. I brushed it off, attributing it to jet lag, to the stress of travel. He’d always been a bit moody after a long journey.
Last night, I was putting the kids to bed, already mentally packing my bag for the retreat. My phone buzzed. A text from him. “You need to cancel your trip.”
My heart seized. What? I thought it was a joke. I replied, asking if everything was okay. His next message came instantly. “No. I’ll be beyond mad if you go. I’m not taking them to school.”
The blood drained from my face. I reread it. And reread it again. He’s not taking the kids to school? My own children? The ones we made together? The ones he always said he adored? This wasn’t him. This was a stranger.
I ran to him, phone clutched in my hand. He was in the living room, staring at his own screen. “What are you talking about?” My voice was barely a whisper. “The retreat? You knew about it!”
He wouldn’t meet my eyes. He just kept repeating, a cold, flat tone I’d never heard, that he couldn’t do it. That he wouldn’t. “I can’t be responsible for them for two days,” he said, as if they were burdens, not our children. As if I hadn’t been solely responsible for them for years while he travelled for work, for pleasure.
I tried to reason. I begged. I pointed out the professional disaster this would be. The missed opportunity. My voice rose. “Why now? Why suddenly?” Why after your trip? That thought, sharp and clear, cut through my panic.
He just walked away, retreating into his shell, slamming the bedroom door. Leaving me standing there, the silence in the house suddenly deafening. The kids were asleep. Their innocent faces flashed in my mind. Their dad was abandoning them. Abandoning me.
All night, I barely slept. I kept replaying his words, his face when he came back. The way he kept checking his phone, jumping when it buzzed. The strange, unfamiliar scent on his clothes, not his usual cologne. A faint, sweet, flowery smell. I’d attributed it to a fancy hotel air freshener. Now it felt sinister.
The next morning, he was gone before I woke up. No note, just an empty space beside me. Panic started to set in. How could I go? How could I leave the kids with someone who openly declared he wouldn’t care for them? But how could I not go? This retreat was everything.
My mind raced. His spontaneous trip. The sudden change. The refusal to take responsibility. It all clicked into place with that lingering scent. I felt a cold dread creep up my spine. He wasn’t just tired. He wasn’t just moody.
I started looking. Searching his discarded laundry from his trip. His suitcase was still tucked away in the closet, a few things left inside. My hands trembled as I opened it. T-shirts, a toiletry bag. And then, tucked beneath a crumpled shirt, a small, embossed card. A business card, but not for business. It was for a maternity clinic. In the city he’d just visited.
My breath hitched. My vision blurred. NO. It couldn’t be. My fingers fumbled, pulling out the card, turning it over. On the back, handwritten, in a swirling, feminine script, was an appointment time. And a name. A woman’s name. Followed by a date. A date just two days after my planned retreat.
He hadn’t suddenly decided he couldn’t take care of our children. He’d made other plans. Plans that involved another woman giving birth to his baby. The day I was supposed to be away, securing my future, he was supposed to be welcoming a new life. A life he had kept secret. A life that explained everything. My world imploded.
