While You Stayed With Her, I Buried My Parents

I stumbled, my right cheek burning, a high-pitched ringing filling my ears.

I looked up in disbelief.

Wilfred seemed startled by what he'd done, staring at me with shock in his eyes.

But the moment he caught Carrie's reddened eyes in his peripheral vision,

that shock turned to disappointment and disgust.

“Freya, what gives you the right to touch Carrie? Because she called out your lie? And to think you were once a journalist who lived for the truth.”

“Cursing your own parents now? Aren't you afraid of karma? Think about the baby you're carrying and try to be a decent human being.”

“Either apologize, or take your junk and get out. Make another scene and I'm calling the police.”

By the time I made it home, clutching that pile of fabric, I was soaked through from the downpour.

Shivering with cold.

The rain had diluted the filth on the cloth, leaving it shapeless and ruined, like a dirty rag.

It was supposed to keep me warm the way Mom used to.

I sat motionless through the night. At first light, I tore the amicable divorce agreement I'd drafted into pieces.

Wilfred was right about one thing: a journalist's duty is to show the world the truth.

How could I possibly let him down?

Late that night, something cool and herbal-smelling touched my cheek.

I opened my eyes. Wilfred was sitting there with a jar of ointment, guilt written across his face.

“Freya, does it still hurt?”

“I'm sorry. I lost my temper today. But you shouldn't have said those things about Carrie in front of her customers.”

“She's an unmarried woman trying to run a business. That kind of talk could ruin her.”

I brushed his hand away. My voice was flat.

“And?”

Wilfred pressed his lips together, then ventured carefully:

“So could you apologize to her publicly? Just say you were affected by pregnancy hormones, that you weren't in your right mind, that everything you said was nonsense.”

“The day after tomorrow is the second anniversary of Carrie's pet shop. You know a lot of bloggers, don't you? Maybe you could help promote the store for free while you're at it.”

For one sickening moment, the herbal ointment smelled worse than cat litter.

“Wilfred. I'm only going to ask you this once. Are you sure?”

He dropped his gaze, unable to look at me, but his voice was strangely firm.

“Carrie's been crying nonstop. Think of it as making it up to her. And think of it as building good karma for our baby.”

“If you agree, I promise I'll go to every single prenatal appointment with you from now on. I'll make it up to you and the baby, double.”

I studied his face in silence.

I couldn't find the man I'd married anywhere in it.

After a long time, I smiled.

“Fine.”

Wilfred's face lit up and he reached for me, but his phone kept buzzing with messages.

I didn't need to look to know who it was.

Sure enough, he chose Carrie again, and left.

But I wasn't hurt anymore.

A few minutes later, Carrie called.

“Freya, how pathetic are you?”

“Pregnant and still can't sit still, playing the victim so Wil would come check on you. And what happened? One crook of my finger and he came running right back to me.”

“If it weren't for that thing in your belly, he'd have thrown you out a long time ago!”

Before, I would have hung up immediately.

But this time, I rested my hand on my flat, empty stomach and let out a cold laugh.

“Right. And as you just pointed out, I'm carrying his child. Wilfred's parents care about keeping the family intact, and he cares about his reputation.”

“If I had to guess, he uses protection every time he sleeps with you. Am I wrong?”

Carrie went dead silent. That told me everything.

“Then you should know that as long as I have this baby, he will never leave me for you.”

“Men can play around all they want out there. In the end, they always come home.”

“Oh, he also just told me that once our baby is born, he's putting everything in the child's name. You won't get a single cent.”

“As for you, you're just a toy my husband plays with while I'm too pregnant to bother. Really, I should be thanking you.”

Furious panting came through the phone.

“Don't get so smug. I will make him divorce you!”

And she didn't disappoint.

Half an hour later, she sent me the video of herself in bed with Wilfred.

Complete with a taunting voice message.

“Freya, what exactly are you so proud of? All I had to do was shed a few tears and he agreed to give me a baby.”

“So we didn't use protection today. Once I'm pregnant, you and that little bastard in your belly can pack your bags.”

I didn't reply.

Wasting even one more word on an idiot wasn't worth my time.

Two days later, Wilfred paid out of his own pocket to throw a second-anniversary celebration for Carrie's pet shop at a hotel.

The guest list included friends they shared, his favorite colleagues, and Carrie's loyal customers.

Before anyone even walked in, Carrie had announced to the entire room that I would be issuing her a public apology via livestream today.

When the time came, Wilfred nodded to the technician at the control station, signaling to begin.

The screen lit up, and my face appeared.

“Hello, everyone. At my husband's request, I'm here today to formally apologize to Miss Butler.”

Carrie's eyes gleamed with the satisfaction of a winner.

Then I smiled.

“I'm sorry that when I received the video of you sleeping with my husband, I couldn't help myself and threw up. I failed to respect your dignity as a mistress.”

“To make it up to you, I'll do exactly what you wanted and give you and your blogger friends some free publicity.”

“Now, please enjoy the show and witness this grand, filthy affair for yourselves.”