After my husband brought back a pregnant woman, I left.

When I was four months pregnant with our second child, my husband Erick brought home a woman who was already seven months pregnant.

“Wren,” he said, “Tara was my brother-in-arms’ wife. He just passed away and left her and the baby behind. I couldn’t bear to leave them alone. Don’t worry, it’s only for a short while. Once she finds a place, I’ll ask her to move out.”

Soft-hearted, I agreed.

I never expected that “a short while” would turn into her never leaving.

Until yesterday.

Erick had gone to pick up our sick son from school. In the middle of the drive home, he suddenly called me.

He said he had left our son on the side of the highway and told me to go pick him up.

Worried sick, I rushed there as fast as I could—but I was still too late.

My son had been run over by passing cars on the highway.

No one had helped him.

He died alone.

I held his tiny, lifeless body in my arms and broke down, sobbing uncontrollably.

I was about to call Erick to demand an explanation when Tara’s social media post appeared on my screen.

Her caption read:

“Just a stomach cramp, and with one call he rushed over to take care of me. A man who loves you will always come the moment you need him.”

In the photo, the two of them stood together inside our home.

My whole body trembled.

I dialed Erick, my voice shaking as I asked,

“So this is the reason you abandoned our son on the highway?”

1.

“Erick, let’s get a divorce.”

My fingertips trembled the entire time I typed those words.

The moment I hit send, I blocked him without hesitation, as if cutting off the last remaining thread tying me to the past.

When I pushed my son’s body into the cremation chamber, it felt as though half of my soul burned away with him.

After the burial, I dragged my numb body back to the home I knew too well.

I stood inside the doorway, one hand braced against the wall, for three whole hours.

The people inside felt no guilt at all.

The man who killed my son was, at that very moment, indulging himself in bed with another woman.

From childhood sweethearts, to classmates through college, to the many times he fell in love, fell out of love, and shattered his heart again—

Every time he stumbled, I held him up.

Every time he succeeded, I applauded him.

Everyone knew I liked him.

No one knew how much humiliation I had swallowed because of him.

I don’t even remember when I started loving him.

Maybe it was when he cried on my shoulder over that failed relationship.

Maybe it was long before that.

But all of that devotion led to this—

My son dead,

and he seeking pleasure in another woman’s arms.

After Tara left, Erick was devastated.

I confessed my feelings, and eventually we got married.

We met at five, started dating at twenty, married at twenty-six, had our son at twenty-nine.

Now he’s six.

I have followed Erick for twenty years.

For twenty years, my eyes never strayed from him.

For twenty years, I poured all my youth into him.

For twenty years, I gave everything, hoping one day I would earn a place in his heart.

But I was wrong.

In his heart, I was always the second choice.

He used to be my light.

Now he is the source of all my pain.

I’m carrying his second child, tiptoeing around him every day, afraid to irritate him.

I didn’t dare complain about the nausea.

I didn’t dare mention the fever the night before the prenatal checkup.

That day, I truly couldn’t hold on anymore and begged him to pick up our son.

And yet, halfway there, one message from Tara was enough for him to turn the car around.

A child of six—

smart, gentle, never once threw a tantrum.

He was abandoned in the freezing wind, and tragedy followed.

In the moment he left this world, he must have been terrified.

I don’t know how much time passed before the banging from the bedroom suddenly stopped.

A moment later, a soft and sickeningly sweet laugh drifted out.

“Erick, you’re amazing. So much better than my dead husband ever was. Thank you… for giving me such wonderful pleasure.”

“You’re amazing too. Looser than Wren.”

A dry laugh escaped me—more like air leaking out of a punctured chest than an actual sound.

But it was enough for them to hear.

Erick’s eyes snapped toward the hallway, sharp and alert.

Tara squealed and rushed to cover herself.

“Oh my, it’s Miss Wren. She’s not misunderstanding anything, is she? Erick, go explain to her.”

Erick came out in a bathrobe, looking as though my presence had interrupted his much-needed rest.

His brows furrowed deep in annoyance.

“You’re back. Why aren’t you resting? What are you doing here?”

My throat felt like a blade had slashed through it; the voice that came out hardly sounded human.

“That’s my question for you, Erick.

I’m carrying your child, and you’re in bed with another woman.

Do you even know what shame is?”

“Wren, don’t overthink it. Tara’s husband died. She hasn’t… enjoyed marital life for a long time. I was just helping her out, that’s all. Relax. There’s nothing more between us. You are my wife. You always will be. Don’t get angry, it’s bad for the baby.”

“Yes, Wren,” Tara chimed in sweetly, stepping out of the room wearing his shirt, smiling innocent and gentle.

“We’re only fulfilling physical needs. I promise I won’t affect your marriage. As long as he’s willing to take care of me and the baby, I’m already very grateful.”