He paused at the entryway and turned to look at me, his eyes dark and unreadable.
His voice dripped with disappointment. "You never used to be like this, Sharon."
Never used to be like what?
Offering up my heart on a platter, only to have him tear it apart piece by piece?
I'd cared too much. I couldn't bear to let go of ten years together.
And back then, I'd been pregnant.
So I swallowed the pain and chose to forgive him.
He promised to keep his distance.
And what happened?
The scar on my hand was proof enough of how foolish I'd been.
I traced the raised line of that scar with my thumb, and the old wound seemed to split open again, oozing and raw, the pain so sharp I couldn't breathe.
A sudden bang shattered my thoughts.
Benjamin had slammed the door on his way out.
I knew exactly where he was going. To Bertha.
I stared at the closed door and let the faintest smile pull at my lips.
"Goodbye, Benjamin."
Half an hour later, Bertha posted on social media. Visible only to me.
"He said I'm the only one who cares about him. He asked me to never leave."
The photo showed the back of Benjamin's head buried in her chest, their fingers laced together.
Not even an hour ago, Benjamin had told me to trust him.
Except his version of "trust" meant believing his relationship with Bertha was purely "friendship."
It meant believing that every time he skipped my prenatal appointments to deal with some minor crisis of hers, he was just being a "loyal friend."
It meant believing that the two of them, naked in the same bed all night, were simply "catching up."
Before long, Bertha deleted the post. Just like she always did.
As if what I'd seen was nothing more than a figment of my imagination, the paranoid delusions of an insecure wife.
Then she sent me a message.
"Sharon, Benjamin was in a really bad mood tonight, so he came to have a few drinks with me. Please don't overthink it."
"It's not worth letting an outsider like me cause problems between you two."
Don't overthink it.
I stared at those words and let out a cold laugh.
I remembered all too well. Back then, heavily pregnant, I'd shoved the screenshot of Bertha's post in Benjamin's face and demanded an explanation. He'd said the exact same thing.
"Bertha and I grew up together. After high school she went abroad and stayed there for years. She's finally back. Is it so wrong for me to spend time with an old friend?"
"Sharon, you're just cooped up at home on bed rest with nothing to do. That's why you keep overthinking everything."
When he saw me clutching my belly, my face draining of color, he seemed to realize he'd gone too far.
He pulled me into his arms and gently rubbed my stomach.
"Sharon, if not for me, then for our baby. You have to trust me. Stop overthinking, okay?"
He wiped my tears with a tender touch, his voice soft with resignation.
"Don't cry, Sharon. I promise. I'll keep my distance from her."
When my tears only fell harder, Benjamin deleted Bertha's contact right in front of me.
He even changed all his passwords to my birthday.
Ten years together. Seven years of marriage. Our baby was almost due.
Back then, I truly couldn't bring myself to let go.
So I gritted my teeth, forgave him again, and chose to believe him one more time.
And then what?
Less than a month.
That was all it took.
When I went into premature labor and learned that our baby had died inside me, when I needed Benjamin more than I'd ever needed anyone in my life, he left.
All because Bertha said she had a stomachache.
He left without hesitation.
Something inside me shattered. I grabbed the fruit knife from the bedside table, my voice raw and broken.
"Benjamin, are you really choosing her? If you walk out that door, we are done. Do you understand me? We are done."
