My heart stopped. “What?”
“I’m thirteen weeks along,” she said softly. “I found out three days after you told me about the affair.”
I sat down, dizzy. “The appointments…”
“Prenatal checkups,” she said simply. “They’re more frequent in the first trimester, especially at my age.”
I couldn’t breathe. “Why didn’t you tell me?”
She sat across from me, folding her hands. “Because I didn’t know what I wanted yet. You had just confessed to betraying me, and then I learned I was carrying your child. I needed time to decide what to do — about the baby, about us.”
The Truth
I asked about the sudden kindness — the meals, the smiles, the notes.
“That was me protecting myself and the baby,” she said. “Stress is dangerous in pregnancy. Anger, resentment — they don’t help anyone. So I made a choice. I chose calm. I chose peace, even when I didn’t feel it.”
I stared at her, unable to comprehend the strength it must have taken to respond to betrayal with composure.
“But you were so kind,” I said. “You seemed… happy.”
She smiled faintly. “I was. Not about what you did. That still hurtContinue reading…
