He Realized Too Late I Was His Secret Backer

The baby.

Those words went into my heart like a fine needle, finding the exact spot.

How long had I been married to him?

Four years, I think.

At twenty-two, I'd slipped back home from overseas to have some fun. At a friend's party I fell for Roy Weiss the moment I saw him, and I went after him.

At first he thought I was too young.

So I chased him without any shame, laying my whole heart out in front of him. Flowers. Jewelry. I was the one who proposed.

People laughed at me, said a girl shouldn't throw herself at a man like that.

It never bothered me. When you love someone, isn't that exactly the kind of brave you're supposed to be?

In the end, we were together.

We dated a year, then married.

Four years of marriage, and every single day, I was the one giving, carefully, always carefully.

He'd give a little back now and then, and I'd feel like the whole sky had brightened.

It wasn't until I got pregnant that I noticed him turning happy, even answering me more than he usually did.

Then the accident came out of nowhere.

I fell down the stairs and lost the baby.

Four months along, and just like that, gone.

Roy didn't say anything.

But I knew he was in a dark mood.

He spoke even less than he had before the pregnancy.

A fear started growing in me.

The fear that he would cheat.

That's why I kept clinging to him, asking over and over whether he loved me.

He never said the word love, but he'd answer gently enough: I'll come home early.

Until this time, when the private phone I wasn't even allowed to touch ended up in someone else's hands, sending all those messages.

That was when I finally understood.

From the very beginning, he had never held me in his heart at all.

Still, it was fine. It was over.

I didn't have it in me to love him anymore.

Seeing me stay quiet for so long, he must have thought I'd given in. He came over and bent down to put his arms around me.

"That's enough, stop overthinking it. I had the housekeeper make you some soup. Have a little and get some rest. Tomorrow's the weekend, I'll take you out somewhere—"

"Roy. Let's get a divorce."

I said it softly.

But his whole body went rigid.

His arms stayed where they were, frozen mid-reach to hold me.

The living room was so quiet I could hear the clock on the wall ticking off the seconds.

One. Two. Three.

Then he straightened up, looked down at me, and laughed.

"What did you say?"

I lifted my head, met his eyes, and said it word by word:

"I said, let's get a divorce."

"I'm so tired."

Loving you. It's really exhausting.

Roy scoffed.

"Is this a joke to you?"

I kept the curve on my lips. "No."

"Tamara." He said my name, his voice going cold. "Over three messages that were sent by mistake, you want to divorce me?"

I kept the curve on my lips. "Yes."

He laughed, furious now.

"I already told you it was a mistake! Do you not understand plain words? And you love me so much—you'd really go through with leaving me?"

I gave a light laugh. "You think it was a mistake. I don't. As for loving you—I don't anymore."

Roy went still for a beat, then sneered. "You're really going to act out over this?"

"I'm not acting out."

I looked up at him. "Roy, I mean it. Let's divorce. It's better for you, and for me."

He clenched his fists and said nothing.

Just when I thought he was about to fall into that cold silence again, his hand shot out and gripped my chin, fire in his eyes.

"Tamara! What is it you actually want? I already told you I didn't send those lines—why won't you believe me!"

"You kept asking whether I loved you, didn't you? Fine, I'm telling you now—I love you. There, are you happy!"