In the seventh year of our marriage, my husband fell in love with a kindergarten teacher and started treating me like dirt. “You’re old and ugly,” he said. “It’s a favor that I haven’t divorced you already.” My son, Connor, would look at me with disgust, saying, “Ms. Rivers is so much kinder than you, Mom. She’s a way better person.” And my parents piled on with their criticism too: “What kind of wife works this much? Work can’t make you a good mother, Julia!” They all kept pressuring me to give up my job, to come home and be the perfect wife and mother they wanted. 1 After wrapping up my business trip, I stopped by Cedar Park Kindergarten with Connor’s favorite bulldozer toy in hand, hoping to surprise him after school. When I got there, a few parents were already gathered, laughing and chatting in small clusters. I stood apart, unfamiliar with any of them, keeping my distance. One of the parents, visibly pregnant, glanced over at me with curiosity—and maybe a hint of suspicion. “Haven’t seen you around before. Which child is yours?” I pushed back my bangs with a smile. “My son’s Connor Hayes. He’s in the oldest class.” The crowd around me exchanged wide-eyed glances, as if I were some kind of rare animal on display. I couldn’t understand why they looked so shocked. I knew I didn’t pick Connor up often, but was it really that big of a surprise for me to be here? “Wait…you’re still around?” The pregnant woman hesitated, then quickly added, “I mean, Connor’s dad usually picks him up. Or sometimes his grandparents…” I guessed that my absence had led to some kind of assumption, and I gave her a polite smile. “My job keeps me busy, so my husband handles most of the pickups.” But even after I’d explained, their stares remained oddly intense, filled with an unsettling curiosity. I felt a hint of discomfort creeping in, and just as I was about to question them, a whole wave of parents arrived, murmuring among themselves and looking me up and down. The school bell rang, and parents poured into the kindergarten building. I joined the crowd, looking around for Connor, and then I spotted him. He was holding hands with a young woman, following her so obediently it nearly melted my heart. “Connor! Over here!” I waved to him, smiling. Connor spotted me and froze, his face registering shock before he clung to the young woman’s sleeve. Balancing on my heels, I walked over, knelt down, and held out the toy bulldozer. “Mom’s home early! I brought your favorite toy. Aren’t you excited?” The young woman’s face drained of color as she saw me. Other teachers nearby quickly stepped in to intercept. “Are you saying you’re Connor’s mother?” they asked, turning to Connor, who hesitated a long while before nodding reluctantly. But even then, the teachers didn’t let me through. They kept questioning me, asking why I was here to pick him up, and even probing into my marriage. I understood their concern, given I was an unfamiliar face, but the more questions they asked, the more riled up they seemed to get. They kept glancing nervously at the young woman with him. My instincts told me something wasn’t right. I decided to cut straight to the point: “Yes, I work a lot and don’t pick Connor up often, but hasn’t he mentioned me?” The teachers shifted uncomfortably. I felt a twinge of sadness but kept it to myself, focusing instead on my son. “Come on, Connor,” I said gently. “How about we go out for a nice dinner?” He wouldn’t come with me, hiding behind the young woman. “I want to wait for Dad to pick me up.” “I’m here, honey. We’ll just tell Dad to meet us at home later.” I coaxed him patiently. “Come on, I even booked your favorite steak place.” 2 But Connor just refused to go with me, and when he started crying loudly, I felt at a loss. I ended up calling my husband. When he realized I’d come home early, he sounded flustered but agreed to come over right away. So I waited, pacing outside the kindergarten, trying to understand how three short days away on business had left such a distance between my son and me. Then I noticed the pregnant woman again, hiding in the shade and sneaking bites of a snack with her little boy. She froze when she saw me watching, so I went over to pat her back. “Easy there, don’t choke,” I said with a small smile. She coughed and thanked me sheepishly, her little boy munching away, looking about Connor’s age. I couldn’t help but ruffle his hair; he looked so adorably stubborn. The woman hesitated before asking, “Connor’s mom, are you and his dad…still together?” What? I might have a busy schedule, but David and I had an arrangement where I focused on work, and he managed the home front. Not the most romantic setup, but it worked for us. I smiled. “I’ve been busy, but that doesn’t mean we’re getting divorced.” “Oh,” she said, voice trembling. “We all just thought…well, since you never showed up, we thought you weren’t…around. So we were kind of, um, encouraging Connor’s dad and Ms. Rivers.” Encouraging them? My mind went blank for a moment. “You mean, my husband and Ms. Rivers have…?” “Yes! We all thought Connor would like Ms. Rivers as a new mom. He even said so himself. So we just tried to help them out,” she explained, her face scrunched in distress. “If we’d known you were still…around, we never would have!” Imagine finding out you were declared dead without anyone telling you. I didn’t know what kind of expression to make. I just stood there in stunned silence until David arrived, holding Connor’s hand with Ms. Rivers right beside him, the three of them looking every bit like a picture-perfect family. I stepped forward and said, “Care for a chat?” 3 I’d always thought of myself as someone with a fair amount of patience. But David’s first reaction upon seeing me was irritation. “Why don’t you just head home first?” he said coldly. Connor echoed his father, “I want to go out with Dad and Ms. Rivers today.” I smiled wryly. “Not including me?” It was as if my own family had replaced me without telling me. I was just the old model, out of the loop. Standing at the kindergarten entrance, a small group of other parents watched us, murmuring among themselves. Ms. Rivers took the chance to flee, and David, or maybe I should say “someone else’s husband,” seethed as he hissed, “Julia, what’s wrong with you today?” What’s wrong with me? After pulling extra hours, all I wanted was to surprise my son. And this was the welcome I got? “I—” I barely started to speak before David yanked me away. I tried to pull back, but he dragged me to the car, shoved me into the back seat, and before I could even sit up, he floored the gas. I lurched forward, smacking my head on the front seat, the impact leaving me momentarily dizzy. Then, I heard Connor’s voice, quiet but scornful. “Serves you right. You shouldn’t bully Ms. Rivers.” My heart skipped a beat. Dazed, I reached up to touch my forehead and felt a sticky warmth on my hand—it was bleeding. Steadying myself, I spoke calmly, “David, take me to St. Mary’s.” He looked back in the rearview mirror and ignored me, keeping his eyes on the road home. At that moment, my anger was replaced by an icy dread. “Do you want a divorce?” I asked, voice cold. “Because you’re sinking pretty low here.” With a screech, he stopped the car on the side of the road, opened my door, and pushed me out. “Be grateful I haven’t divorced you, you washed-up woman.” He sneered, then lowered the window just enough to say, “Now, go cool off.” I pounded on the door, calling for Connor to let me in, but he just looked at me with disdain. “Ms. Rivers is way nicer than you. You deserve this.” Then, father and son sped off, leaving me stranded on the roadside. I ducked to the shoulder, barely avoiding traffic, and dialed for help. One car nearly hit me, and I rolled across its hood. The driver, horrified, immediately called 91
When I woke up, I was in a hospital bed at St. Mary’s, the young driver sitting by me, head in his hands, sobbing. Seeing me stir, he jumped up. “You’re awake! Doc, nurse—she’s awake!” “I’m fine,” I assured him, though his relief was so genuine. “You’re innocent here.” He took a deep breath. “That’s good. I thought I’d really messed up.” I looked around the empty room, holding onto a final bit of hope. “The hospital didn’t contact my family?” The young man, probably in his early twenties, scratched his head. “They did, but once they heard it was just some bruises, they hung up.” I managed a bitter smile, tears welling up. What had I done to deserve this? “Please don’t cry, ma’am. You’re alright now.” 4 David and I had met through mutual friends. On paper, we were evenly matched in looks, just enough to feel like we “fit” together. His college degree and career weren’t as promising as mine, but he came from a local family with solid roots—his parents both had pensions and several properties. As for me, my career was on an upward climb, though my own family background wasn’t as secure. Growing up in rural parts with my grandparents while my parents juggled jobs, I never had a strong safety net or any family wealth to speak of. My parents had insisted I find someone close by, and David fit the bill perfectly. David was calm and practical, a great cook and a homebody. Our arrangement made sense: I took on the breadwinning role, while he managed the household. And I thought I did my part well. After Connor’s difficult birth, I poured everything into being a good mom. No matter how busy, I always tried to make time for him, sneaking in short trips or a special family night whenever I could. I even handed over my paycheck, knowing how it might look if people saw a man struggling to get by while raising a child. But somewhere along the line, David and even Connor had drifted away. Even through the heartbreak, I forced myself to think logically. Hiring Brad Maxwell, the private investigator, I finally got the answers I’d been avoiding. For nearly three years, David had been carrying on with Ms. Rivers. I thought I’d been busy, but not so busy I couldn’t be there for school pickup once in a while. David had convinced me I could better use my time preparing dinner while he swung by to get Connor. And on days when I was out of town? He brought Connor and Ms. Rivers together like they were one happy family. And Connor—my son, the one I’d given everything to—was in on the lie. Ms. Rivers was younger, more cheerful, always there when he needed something. Taking a deep breath, I asked Brad, “Does she know?” Brad hesitated, then replied, “I’d say yes. All the gifts David’s bought her were paid with your card.” 5 According to Brad, Ms. Rivers had apparently even checked David’s phone and discovered my existence. But David had spun the story, saying he was divorced and that the card was just for “child support.” As if regular payments could be for child support. She had to know. Giving her the benefit of the doubt one last time, I tracked down her contact information and asked her to meet me. But when I arrived, it wasn’t Ms. Rivers waiting for me; it was David. He walked right up to me and threw coffee in my face. “Julia, enough already! I’m warning you, if you keep messing with Amanda, you’ll regret it.”
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