My Husband Took His Mistress’ Hand While I Fell

The cold air bit into my lungs as Julian's words hung between us. His face was hard, angry—a mask I'd seen him wear more and more often lately. But this time, I wasn't backing down.

"You lied to me," I said. My voice came out louder than I expected. "You said you were at your mother's house. You've been lying to me for years, haven't you?"

Julian's jaw tightened. "You're being dramatic. This isn't about—"

"Don't you dare tell me what this is about!" The words tore out of me. "You stood there on camera and told the whole world you had feelings for her. For years. While you were married to me."

People passing by on the sidewalk slowed to watch. I didn't care. Let them watch. Let them see what happened when a man decided his wife wasn't enough.

"Daisy, stop it." Julian's voice dropped to that warning tone I'd heard so many times before. "You're making a scene."

"I'm making a scene?" I laughed, but it came out sharp and bitter. "You're the one who made a scene, Julian. You and your public confession. Did you think I'd never see it? Did you think I was that stupid?"

The restaurant door opened behind us. Natasha stepped out, Chana trailing behind her. She wrapped her arms around herself, her eyes wide and hurt. "Daisy, please," she said softly. "I didn't know he was going to say that. I would never—"

"Save it," I snapped. I couldn't look at her. If I did, I'd see the years of her calculated innocence, her perfect tears, her endless crises that always seemed to require Julian's immediate attention. "I'm not talking to you. I'm talking to my husband. The man who swore to love me."

Chana pressed herself against Julian's leg, her small face tilted up at the adults. She looked scared. I almost felt sorry for her. Almost.

Julian stepped closer to me. "This is exactly what I'm talking about. You're out of control. We can talk about this at home, but—"

"No." I shook my head. "We talk about it now. Right here. Tell me the truth for once in your life. Tell me you don't love her. Tell me you haven't been in love with her this whole time."

His face went pale. He looked trapped. For a moment, I thought he might actually answer. Then his eyes flicked to Natasha, and his expression shuttered.

"Daisy, stop," he said again. "You're not thinking clearly. Let's go home and—"

"No!" I stepped backward, my hands shaking. "I'm not going anywhere with you. Not until you tell me the truth."

That's when I saw it happen.

Chana, still pressed against Julian's side, reached into her coat pocket. She pulled out a half-eaten caramel apple—the kind with the sticky red candy coating. She looked up at the adults, her eyes flat and assessing. Then she dropped it.

The caramel apple hit the icy pavement right in front of me. The candy splattered across the frozen concrete like blood.

I stepped back again, gesturing wildly. "Julian, for God's sake, just tell me—"

My heel caught the edge of the splattered caramel. The world tilted. I felt myself falling before I registered what was happening.

The concrete rushed up to meet me. My stomach hit first. The impact knocked the breath out of my lungs. Pain exploded through my abdomen—sharp, immediate, blinding. I curled around myself, gasping.

For a moment, everything was still. The cold seeped through my clothes. My hands pressed against the rough concrete. Then the nausea hit, and I retched onto the frozen ground.

I couldn't stand. I couldn't breathe. The pain was too much.

"Julian," I gasped. "Help me. Please. I can't—I can't get up."

I looked up at him through tears. He stood there, looking down at me. His face was a mask of disgust.

"Get up, Daisy," he said. His voice was cold. "Stop putting on a show. You're embarrassing yourself."

I stared at him in disbelief. "What? I—I can't. I'm hurt. I need—"

"You're fine," he cut me off. "You're just trying to guilt me. It won't work."

Behind him, Natasha gasped. "Oh my God, is she okay? Should we call someone?"

But I barely heard her. I was focused on Julian's face. On the way he looked at me like I was nothing. Like my pain was an inconvenience.

Then Chana started crying.

She threw herself against Julian's leg, her small body shaking with sobs. "Uncle Julian, I'm scared," she wailed. "She's scaring me. Make her stop. Make her go away."

Julian's face softened immediately. He bent down and picked her up, cradling her against his chest. "It's okay, sweetie," he murmured. "Don't look. She's just having a tantrum."

He turned away from me. Toward Natasha. Toward the restaurant door.

"Julian," I called out. "Please. I need help. I can't—"

He didn't look back. He took Natasha's hand, and together they walked away, Chana still crying dramatically in his arms. They left me there, writhing on the frozen sidewalk, the pain in my stomach getting worse by the second.

I fumbled for my phone, lying on the ground beside me. My fingers were numb, but I managed to dial 911.

"Help," I whispered when the operator answered. "Please. I'm pregnant. I fell. I'm on Pine Street, outside Rosario's. Please hurry. I think—I think something's wrong."

The operator's voice was calm, professional. "Help is on the way, ma'am. Can you stay on the line?"

I closed my eyes, the cold seeping deeper into my bones. "I'll try," I said. "But please hurry. Please."

The last thing I saw before the darkness started to creep in was Julian's back, walking away into the night with Natasha and Chana, leaving me alone on the frozen ground.