He stopped.
I laughed bitterly.
“Try again.”
He whispered.
“She was kind to me.”
I almost slapped him.
Not because she had been kind.
Because he was turning betrayal into loneliness.
“You had a wife.”
“I know.”
“You could have talked to me.”
“I know.”
“Instead, you slept with a clinic employee.”
“Yes.”
“How long?”
“Four months.”
“Four months.”
“Yes.”
“Did you love her?”
He hesitated.
My stomach dropped.
“Answer.”
“I thought I did.”
I stepped away.
The room felt contaminated.
“Does she know about me?”
“Yes.”
“Does the child know about you?”
“Yes.”
I stared.
“So you have been seeing him.”
Edgar looked ashamed.
“Yes.”
“How often?”
“Once or twice a month.”
My knees weakened.
I sat down.
Not because he told me to.
Because I could not stand.
My husband had a three-year-old son.
He had been visiting him.
Buying gifts.
Living another life.
While his mother mocked me for infertility.
I whispered.
“Kristina knows.”
“Yes.”
“How long?”
“Since Heather was pregnant.”
That hurt almost more than the affair.
Kristina had watched me suffer.
Watched fertility treatments fail.
Watched me cry.
Then told me my body was failing her son.
All while knowing Edgar already had a biological child.
I pressed both hands against my face.
“Oh my God.”
Edgar stepped closer.
I held up one hand.
“Don’t touch me.”
He stopped.
I asked.
“Why didn’t you leave?”
His face twisted.
“What?”
“If you loved Heather.”
“If you had a child.”
“Why stay with me?”
