His Pregnant Mistress Revealed He Drove My Mother to Suicide

I drive west until I run out of road.

The parking lot is empty. Just cracked asphalt and a rusted fence separating the concrete from the sand. The ocean is gray today. Flat. Like someone ironed out all the waves.

I turn off the engine.

My phone is still off. The printout from Dr. Huang is folded in my purse. I don't need to look at it again. The words are already carved into the back of my skull.

*Deliberately introduced.*

I close my eyes and I see him. Six-thirty in the morning. Every morning. Dominic in the kitchen in his undershirt and sleep pants, measuring powder into capsules with the same focus he brings to everything. The scale. The tiny funnel. His reading glasses perched on his nose. He'd bring them to me in bed with a glass of water. Kiss my forehead. Tell me to take my time getting up.

I thought it was love.

I press my palms against my eyes until I see stars.

The first miscarriage was in April. I was eight weeks along. We'd just told his parents. I woke up at three in the morning with cramping so sharp I couldn't stand. Dominic drove me to the ER. He held my hand in the waiting room and told me it wasn't my fault. He said these things happen. He said we'd try again.

The second was in June.

The third in September.

By the fourth, I stopped telling people. By the fifth, I stopped crying in front of him.

Every time, he made me tea. Every time, he rubbed my back and said the right words. Every time, he handed me the supplement the next morning and I swallowed it.

I open my eyes.

A gull lands on the hood of my car. It tilts its head and looks at me through the windshield. I stare back. It flies away.

I check the time on the dashboard clock. Two forty-seven.

I've been sitting here for three hours.

I start the car and drive home.

---

The apartment is empty. I go to the bathroom and open the cabinet. The supplements are on the second shelf. White bottle. Clean label. *Prenatal Support Blend.* His handwriting on the side in black marker: *Daily – with food.*

I take the bottle. Then I take the backup from the kitchen cabinet. I seal them both in a plastic freezer bag. I photograph them on the counter next to the printout. The light from the window is good. Clear. I take five photos from different angles.

Then I put the bag in the back of my closet under a box of winter sweaters.

My phone is still off. I turn it on.

Seven missed calls. Four from Dominic. Three from Claire. A dozen texts I don't read.

One message from a number I don't recognize.

*Saige has an appointment at Cedars tomorrow. 10 AM. Thought you should know. –J*

J is Jenny Tran. We went to high school together. She works in hospital administration now. I haven't spoken to her in five years.

I stare at the message.

Then I delete it.

Then I restore it from the trash.

I don't sleep that night. I lie in bed and listen to Dominic come home at midnight. He moves quietly. Doesn't turn on lights. I hear the shower run. I hear him brush his teeth. The mattress shifts when he gets in beside me.

He doesn't touch me.

I count his breaths until they slow and deepen. Then I count the hours until dawn.

---

Cedars-Sinai smells like floor cleaner and fear.

I don't know why I came. I sit in the far corner of the third-floor waiting area with a magazine I'm not reading. The OB clinic is across the hall. Glass doors. Soft lighting. A receptionist in scrubs smiling at a couple checking in.

I see her first.

Saige walks in like she's on a runway. Black sunglasses. White coat. Heels that click on the tile. Her hand rests on her stomach. The bump is small but visible.

Dominic is three steps behind her.

He's wearing the navy suit. The one I bought him for our anniversary. His hand is on her lower back as they approach the desk. He says something I can't hear. The receptionist nods and hands Saige a clipboard.

They sit in the waiting area. Two chairs down from an older couple. Saige fills out forms. Dominic leans close and points to something on the page. She laughs. He smiles.

I watch from across the hall.

Saige's name is called. A nurse in purple scrubs holds the door. Dominic stands first. He takes the clipboard from Saige and offers his hand. She takes it. Rises. Adjusts her coat.

That's when she sees me.

Her head turns. Slow. Deliberate. She lifts her sunglasses and meets my eyes.

Then she smiles.

She holds up her left hand. The ring catches the light. It's not the ring Dominic gave me. It's bigger. Newer.

She reaches into her purse and pulls out a piece of paper. Unfolds it. Turns it toward the room. The marriage certificate. Laminated now.

"My husband is so devoted," she says. Her voice carries. Clear. Bright. "He never misses an appointment. He's so excited about the baby."

The older couple looks up. The receptionist glances over.

Dominic's hand moves to the small of Saige's back. He guides her toward the open door. He doesn't look at me. Doesn't pause. Doesn't hesitate.

The door closes behind them.

I sit very still.

The magazine slides off my lap onto the floor. I don't pick it up.

The older woman across from me leans toward her husband. Whispers something. He shakes his head.

I press my thumbnail into my palm. The wound from yesterday opens again. I feel the blood but I don't look down.

I stand. Walk to the elevator. Press the button.

The doors open. I step inside.

As they close, I see my reflection in the metal. I look like someone I used to know.