"I know these past weeks have been hard on you." He bent his head and kissed my knee. "Once the baby's here, I'll take you both to an island getaway. Just the three of us, our little family."
I studied the profile of his earnest face. The day the pregnancy was confirmed, he'd crouched in front of me just like this, so moved his eyes went red. That day, right in front of me, he'd dropped Luna's number into his blocked list and swore up and down that from then on his whole world would be just the three of us, our little home. But barely three days later, the block was quietly lifted. The reason: Sean had spiked a fever in the night, and Luna couldn't manage him alone. From that day on, Luna's calls turned into overnight stays, every single one backed by a "perfectly reasonable" excuse I couldn't argue with.
I looked away and lowered my legs.
There was movement by the front door. Luna had taken Sean by the hand, ready to leave, and was bending down in the entryway to change her shoes.
The phone she'd set on the shoe cabinet lit up with a forum notification.
From a few steps away, I saw that familiar app icon, and the exact same profile picture as the top reply on last night's viral post.
Back in the bedroom, I locked the door behind me.
Sitting on the edge of the bed, I picked up my phone, searched for that viral post, tapped the top commenter's avatar, and went into her page.
Her page had hundreds of posts, stretching back two years.
For my child's emotional well-being, even after the divorce I still go to my ex-husband's house every week to cook.
My ex-husband's current wife is pregnant, so I've taken on most of the housework caring for them, just so my child can have a whole childhood.
Today I burned my hand making soup in the kitchen. My ex felt terrible about it, but I told him, as long as his wife can safely deliver the baby, it's fine if I suffer a little.
Under every post were hundreds of comments. People praised her as a great mother, a big-hearted, good woman.
My gaze snagged on one of the top-liked replies.
User Jordan: "You're a good mom. He sees everything you do, he'll understand one day. It isn't easy being the ex-wife."
Jordan was the username Silas always used.
My stomach lurched. I clamped a hand over my mouth and forced down the wave of nausea.
I kept scrolling and found the post she'd put up last night. In the update on the main thread, she'd written: "His current wife is 87 days into keeping the pregnancy, needs injections every day, her belly's all bruised now. My ex is heartbroken over it, and it hurts me to watch too, so all I can do is make her more nourishing soup."
I stared at that line, my fingertips ice-cold.
God. Her belly's all bruised.
That was the sight only Silas had seen, every time I finished an injection and hid in the bathroom to wipe away my tears in secret.
I'd thought it was the most private pain between us as husband and wife, proof of how much he ached for me.
But he'd taken the state of my body and turned it into material for late-night chats with his ex-wife. And his ex-wife had spun that material into bargaining chips for sympathy online.
I closed the forum, my heart gone to ash.
Toward evening, I heard the door open in the living room.
Silas came in carrying a bouquet of baby's breath and the plump red berries I loved most.
"Honey, look what I brought you." He set the flowers on the nightstand, went to the kitchen to rinse the berries, and carried them over to me.
He pinched up the biggest, reddest one and held it to my lips. "Passed a fruit stand today and saw them. Bought them just for you. Just hold on one more day. The day after tomorrow you'll get to hear the baby's heartbeat, and I'll record it to use as my ringtone."
I looked at that berry, the purple-red juice staining his fingertips.
I thought of the first time I found out he and Luna were in constant contact. We'd had a huge fight. He'd slammed the door on his way out and given me the silent treatment for three days. In the end, I was the one who bought berries and sent him the first apology text. After that, I learned to be "sensible." Don't bring it up, don't make a scene, don't look at his phone. I'd thought that was the wisdom of keeping a marriage together.
