Eight Months Pregnant, I Left My Cheating Husband Behind

Under the nurse's pitying gaze, eight months pregnant, I lowered myself down inch by inch, struggling, and picked the divorce papers back up.

So close, Elijah.

You were about to find out I wanted to divorce you.

I did the checkup alone, and I left alone.

I took a cab straight to the law firm and handed the papers to my lawyer.

The lawyer asked,

"Ms. Simmons, are you sure you want to raise the child on your own?"

I rested my hand lightly on my belly and looked out the window.

The sun was bright, the birdsong crisp and clear.

I wanted my child surrounded by sunlight, not by the filth of parents who'd stopped loving each other.

I nodded, sure of it.

Back home, maybe because I'd been through too much, my belly went tight, cramping so hard I broke into a cold sweat, and all I could do was lie down and rest.

Elijah called on video. Half-conscious, I hit answer by accident.

The instant the screen lit up,

I saw him with a towel in his hand, gently wiping down Jeanette's body.

Only when he noticed the call had connected did he look up and explain,

"Honey, Jenny's running a fever, a hundred and two. I'm looking after her for you for now. Don't worry."

I lay there in the empty room, my leg seizing up so painfully the tears kept welling.

And the two people who once treated me best were leaning into each other in a hospital.

I wanted to hang up, but then I heard Jeanette, feverish and dazed, suddenly throw her arms around Elijah's waist, her voice thick with tears,

"Elijah… why are you so good to me? Don't be this good to me. I'll get greedy."

The phone got knocked over, the camera aimed at the ceiling.

But I still heard Elijah, clear as anything, coaxing her softly.

"Silly, why are you crying? I'm good to you and you're not even happy about it?"

Jeanette hiccupped through her sobs.

"But I'm not as pretty as Beryl, and I'm not as accomplished as her… I don't deserve it."

My heart clenched. I never thought she'd see it that way.

After a brief silence, I heard Elijah answer softly.

"You do deserve it. You deserve it more than anyone."

I pressed end.

And there it was again, the day we graduated senior year, Elijah saying to me, so serious and solemn,

"Beryl, you deserve the very best of everything in this world."

"I'll be good to you my whole life."

Vows are like dust. One gust of wind and they no longer count.

Now, in Elijah's heart, someone more deserving than me had already appeared.

I buried my face in the pillow.

The whole room was quiet.

Only the choking sob I couldn't hold down gave away how wronged I felt.

When I drifted awake, I noticed someone gently massaging my swollen calves.

Elijah was sitting on the edge of the bed, his touch practiced and patient, his profile as gentle as ever.

He had always been like this.

Ever since I got pregnant, he'd taken care of me down to the smallest detail, massaging me, soaking my feet, researching recipes for pregnant women, like a perfect husband and a perfect father.

If it weren't for the way he'd changed toward Jeanette, I'd have found no proof at all that his heart had turned.

I felt dazed, and I couldn't help wondering whether everything these past few days had been nothing but a dream of mine.

But the moment Elijah spoke, he shattered every lie I'd been telling myself.

"Honey, you're finally awake."

"Why did you leave yesterday without telling me? Jenny's got a high fever. She's stubborn, refuses point-blank to be admitted, and now she won't even take her medicine. Will you go talk her into it?"

It felt like a blunt knife sawing at my chest, over and over.

He'd waited by my bed for me to wake up, and the first thing out of his mouth was asking me to go coax another woman into taking her medicine.

He hadn't noticed my nightgown was already soaked through with cold sweat. Hadn't noticed how pale my face was.

I drew my leg back, my voice tired and hoarse,

"I'm not her mother. I can't coax her into taking her medicine."

Elijah faltered for a moment, catching that something was off with me. He frowned and reached out to take my hand.

"Honey, have you been in a bad mood lately? Is the baby giving you a hard time?"

"If something hurts, or something's bothering you, you have to tell me. You keep it all bottled up, and I really can't guess what you're thinking."

"If you mind Jenny staying at the house, then maybe… I could give her the key to that little apartment of yours?"

There it was again…

Every time I showed the slightest bit of negative feeling, Elijah would be gentle like this, understanding, patiently reasoning with me.

As if he'd done nothing wrong, and it was only that I'd become too prone to overthinking since getting pregnant.

Before, his gentleness always shook me. I'd even end up blaming myself, wondering if I was making too big a deal out of nothing.

But now, all I felt was anger.

Did he want to pin all of this on my pregnancy hormones?

I lifted my head and looked into his eyes too, and smiled.

"Sure. Go ahead and send her over there."

The calculating look on Elijah's face visibly stiffened.

As if he'd never imagined I would actually agree to send Jeanette away.

He spoke, a little awkwardly,

"…We'll have to wait until she's better."

I said nothing, just looked at him.

Elijah must have realized he'd said the wrong thing. A flicker of guilt crossed his eyes, and he changed the subject.

"Right, the senior-year alumni reunion is in a couple of days. Don't forget. I'll come pick you up after work."

With that, he barely lingered, turning and walking out of the room.

I raised a hand and pressed lightly against the dull ache in my chest, and realized that somewhere along the way I'd gotten used to being disappointed.

It was as though every time I let myself hope, what came back was only a more humiliating result.

But it was fine. In a little over two weeks, I'd be gone.

And I could use this time to wean myself, bit by bit, off my dependence on Elijah, off these twenty years of love.

After all, he'd occupied my life for so very long. To truly let go, I had to give myself a little time.

Over the next two days, Elijah came back to the room late every night.

He always thought his movements were quiet enough not to wake me.

But I was never asleep.

I could hear it clearly, the laughter and talking that drifted now and then from the room next door.

I even heard a few faint, ambiguous gasps.

Each time I heard it, my heart grew a degree colder.

I recorded those sounds, in case the divorce came down to a courtroom fight later.

At night Elijah slipped quietly back into bed and reached out to pull me, pretending to sleep, into his arms.

"Honey, I love you."

I lay there with my eyes open, staring into nothing, tears sliding down without my meaning them to.

At last I believed what people online said, that a confession blurted out late at night is the guilt of someone who's been cheating.