Chapter 4 - The First Night of Truth
The night was a blur of exhaustion and cold reality.
James had gone out to the 24-hour pharmacy to get the essentials,
leaving me alone with the girl and my thoughts.
I sat in the rocking chair,
the one I had used for all three of my boys,
and watched the monitor I had set up in the playroom.
The house was too quiet.
Usually,
there was the sound of Leo and Sam arguing over the remote,
or little Toby crying because he couldn't find his blanket.
But tonight,
the boys were safe at my mother's,
unaware that their world had been shifted off its axis.
I pulled out my phone and did something I hadn't done in years.
I searched for Elena’s name online.
I expected to find nothing,
or perhaps the old,
fake reports of her death.
Instead,
I found a trail of digital breadcrumbs that James must have known about.
Arrests for shoplifting.
Stays at local shelters.
And then,
a social media profile under a different name.
I clicked on it,
my breath catching in my throat.
The photos were recent.
There was Elena,
looking gaunt and tired,
but undeniably pregnant.
And in the background of one photo,
taken at a park I recognized,
was the back of a man’s head.
A man wearing a jacket I had bought for James last Christmas.
He was there.
He was in her life,
playing the role of the supportive brother while he played the role of the perfect husband at home.
I felt a surge of pure,
unadulterated rage.
He didn't just help her financially;
he was her friend.
He shared moments with her that he should have shared with me.
When the front door opened and James walked in carrying bags of supplies,
I didn't move.
I waited until he came up the stairs,
his face weary and hopeful.
"I got everything,"
he said,
setting the bags down on the landing.
"The gentle formula,
the diapers,
the wipes."
I held up my phone,
the screen glowing with the image of him in the park with his sister.
"When was this taken?"
I asked,
my voice dangerously calm.
James froze,
his eyes darting to the screen.
"October,"
he whispered.
"October,"
I repeated.
"That was the month of our anniversary."
"The month you told me you had to work late every Tuesday for that big merger."
"I was with her at her doctor's appointments,"
he confessed,
dropping his head.
"She didn't have anyone else,
Sarah."
"She was high-risk,
just like you were."
"Don't you dare compare us!"
I hissed,
standing up and walking toward him until we were inches apart.
"I was high-risk because I was carrying our children."
"She was high-risk because of the life she chose to lead."
"And you chose her over me."
"You chose to lie to me for months,
letting me believe you were working,
while you were playing family with a woman you told me was dead."
"I wasn't playing family!"
James raised his voice,
then immediately lowered it as the baby stirred in the playroom.
"I was trying to make sure that baby survived,"
he whispered urgently.
"I knew how much it would hurt you if I told you about her and then the baby didn't make it."
"I thought I was protecting you."
"Protecting me?"
I laughed,
a harsh,
ugly sound.
"You were protecting yourself,
James."
"You didn't want to deal with my anger,
or my grief,
or the complicated reality of your family’s lies."
"You wanted to be the hero in her story without having to be the husband in mine."
He reached out to touch my shoulder,
but I flinched away as if he were made of fire.
"I want her to stay,"
he said,
his voice breaking.
"I know you do,"
I said.
"But you need to understand something."
"If she stays,
if we do this,
our marriage as we knew it is over."
"There is no going back to the way things were."
"There is no more trust."
"There is only the baby,
and the three boys,
and the wreckage you left behind."
He looked at me,
really looked at me,
and I saw the realization dawn on him.
He had gotten the daughter he wanted.
But he had lost his wife in the process.
The baby started to cry again,
a high-pitched wail that demanded attention.
I didn't move.
"Go on,"
I said,
pointing toward the playroom.
"Go be the father you’ve been practicing to be for the last six months."
"I’m going to bed."
I walked into our bedroom and locked the door,
the sound of the click echoing like a finality.
I lay on the bed,
still in the shirt I had been cleaning the kitchen in,
and listened to the sound of my husband shushing a baby in the next room.
May you like
The daughter I had always wanted was finally under my roof.
And I had never felt more like a stranger in my own home.
