While I Gave Birth, My Husband Married His Mistress

Lily sat at the edge of the kitchen island. She was coloring a picture of a house with a bright yellow sun. A pot of water sat on the back burner of the stove, heating up for her evening oatmeal.

Footsteps pounded down the hallway.

Azari kicked the swinging kitchen door open. She held her pink tablet in both hands. The glass screen was shattered with deep, jagged cracks.

"Look at this!" Azari shrieked. "Look what you did!"

Lily shrank back in her wooden chair. Her small fingers tightened around her yellow crayon. "I didn't touch it, Azari. I was in my room all afternoon."

"Liar!" Azari’s face went blotchy and red. Her breath came in sharp, ugly gasps.

I was folding towels in the small utility closet three feet away. I dropped the laundry and rushed out. "Azari, stop screaming at her."

Azari didn't even look at me. Her gaze dropped to the stove.

She lunged forward. She grabbed the handle of the pot with both hands. Before I could even shout, she swung it toward Lily.

Hot water splashed through the air. It hit Lily's bare arms, her shoulder, and the side of her neck.

Lily let out a shrill, piercing scream. It was a sound that felt like ice sliding into my chest.

The heavy pot crashed onto the floor. Boiling water hissed against the hot burner.

"Azari!" I cried out.

"You're a nobody's bastard!" Azari spat. She stood over the puddle, her mouth twisted into a vicious sneer. "You don't deserve to breathe our air! You don't even belong in this house!"

I dropped to my knees on the wet marble. Lily was shaking uncontrollably, gasping so hard she couldn't catch her breath. Red, angry welts were already rising on her pale skin. The flesh along her right forearm looked raw and shiny.

I grabbed clean dish towels from the drawer. I soaked them under the cold faucet and pressed them gently against her neck and arms.

"I'm here, baby," I whispered. My hands shook, but my voice stayed soft. "Mama is right here."

I looked up at Azari.

She didn't run away. She didn't look scared. She stood there with her chin held high, watching Lily writhe in pain like it was nothing more than an entertaining show.

In that single second, the fog cleared.

Azari was only eight years old, but she was not just a bratty child having a tantrum. She was a weapon. Nylah had raised her to be this way. Nylah had fed her poison day after day, teaching her that Lily was garbage, that Lily’s pain didn't count.

"Get out," I said.

My voice was very low. It wasn't loud, but it was deadly quiet.

Azari rolled her eyes, turned around, and marched down the hall.

***

I spent two hours cleaning Lily's burns. I applied thick antibiotic cream and wrapped her arms in white gauze.

Afterward, she lay on our narrow twin bed in the servant's quarters. In her hands, she clutched a pale pink dress. I had bought it from a thrift store weeks ago and stayed up late taking in the seams so it would fit her tiny frame.

Tomorrow night was the Pierce Foundation father-daughter charity gala. Lily had talked about it for two straight months. She had practiced walking in her cheap patent-leather shoes every night before bed, dreaming of dancing with her father.

At seven o'clock, the private elevator chimed.

A moment later, our bedroom door opened.

Dariel stepped inside. He had already shed his thousand-dollar suit somewhere down the hall. Now he wore his faded denim jacket and scuffed work boots. Under his left eye, the tiny cosmetic mole sat perfectly in place on his skin.

He offered his familiar, tired smile. The smile of "Danny," the honest truck driver who loved his little family.

"Hey, sweetheart," he said softly. His voice had that warm, slow cadence I had trusted for eight years. "How are my girls doing tonight?"

I stood up from the bed. I didn't return his smile. I pointed directly at Lily’s bandaged arms.

"Azari threw boiling water at her today, Danny," I said. My words were flat. "She burned her. She told Lily she was a bastard who didn't deserve to breathe."

Dariel’s smile vanished. A flicker of irritation crossed his eyes before he wiped it away.

He rubbed the back of his neck and sighed. "Kara... come out here for a second. Let's talk."

He took my elbow and steered me into the narrow service hallway. He pulled the bedroom door almost shut, leaving only a tiny crack.

"Look," he whispered, leaning down. "Azari was upset about her broken tablet. She's high-strung. You know how Nylah's side of the family is."

"She burned our daughter, Danny," I said, staring into his eyes. "She blistered her skin. Are you going to punish her? Are you going to say something to Nylah?"

Dariel looked down at the floor. He shifted his weight from one foot to the other.

"If I cause a scene, Nylah will throw us out on the street," he lied smoothly. "You know how fragile our living situation is. We have to keep the peace."

I looked at the fake mole beneath his eye. It looked disgusting to me now. Just cheap greasepaint hiding a monster.

"So what are you saying?" I asked.

"I think Lily should stay home from the gala tomorrow night," he said. He said it easily, like he was canceling a dry cleaning pickup. "Azari is going. If Lily shows up, it'll cause too much drama. It's better if Lily withdraws. Just to avoid any more conflict."

A faint rustle came from behind us.

The bedroom door pushed open an inch wider.

Lily stood there in the doorway. She had put on the pink dress over her bandages. She was holding her small white socks in her blistered hands.

She looked up at Dariel.

Her dark eyes filled with tears. Her chin quivered, but she didn't scream or cry out. She just stood there, watching the man she believed in strip away her only dream.

Her face completely crumpled. Without a word, she stepped backward into the shadows of the room.

For eight long years, I had stayed quiet. I had lived in a closet. I had skipped meals so she could have medicine. I had bent my back until it nearly broke, convincing myself that suffering was the price of love.

I heard the soft click of Lily's door closing.

And deep inside me, the thing that had been bending for eight years finally snapped.