When I was three months pregnant, a video of Derek’s affair went viral. My parents were livid, and worse, consumed with guilt. After all, they were the ones who had pushed me into this marriage. “What are you going to do?” Mom asked, her face streaked with tears. “Will you… divorce him?” “No.” I clutched the ultrasound report until my knuckles turned white. My father’s business investments had collapsed this year, leaving us 30 million dollars in debt. So he cheated. So what? Why on earth would I divorce him? I was counting on that jerk to help pay off our debts! After that, I acted like nothing had happened. I went back to the house Derek and I shared. Even when Derek came home that night, I didn’t breathe a word about the video. I just handed him my pregnancy report, my face a mask of calm.. Derek studied my expression, his own devoid of any guilt or emotion. My arm had begun to ache from holding out the folder for so long before he finally took it. Then, as casually as if discussing the weather, he said, “Don’t worry. That girl was a little disobedient. I’ve already disciplined her.” A tremor ran through my hand. He hadn’t said he’d broken things off or cut ties. He’d said “disciplined,” with a mix of possessive indulgence and chilling indifference that turned my stomach. Disciplined her? How? Like in the video? With Derek, all beastial hunger, dragging her back, pinning her down as she giggled and writhed beneath him? “Getting brave, are we? Saying no to me now?” “You want to be disciplined, is that it?” Then, He flipped her over, his hand connecting with her skin in a sting that was part punishment, part perverse caress. A dull ache flared in my chest. Gagging, I shut down the memory hard. “I’m tired,” I said, my voice miraculously steady. “I’m going to my room. See Maria if you’re hungry.” I didn’t wait for a reply. I scrambled for the stairs, my sole focus on reaching the second floor. Derek didn’t stop me. He just let out a grunt from the couch. It wasn’t until my foot hit the first step that his voice cut through the silence again. “Willow, thank you.” My hand instantly clenched. Since I’d known Derek, he’d thanked me countless times. When we got married, he said, “Thank you for agreeing to be my wife.” When I got pregnant, he said, “Thank you for carrying our precious baby.” But I never imagined his “thank you” would, one day, be used for this. A suffocating pain seized my chest. I bit down hard on my lower lip, forcing out a calm, “You’re welcome.”
After that, for a long time, Derek and I settled into a tense peace. The video was never mentioned again. Derek would accompany me to my prenatal appointments. He showered me with gifts. He played the part of the doting husband to perfection, as if he were still the man who’d loved me madly. But I knew, with a cold, sinking certainty, that everything had shifted. It was there last night, when he suddenly caged me beneath him, his voice a low murmur against my skin. “The doctor said it’s safe… at four months.” Then his kisses came, thick and relentless. I used to crave them. Now, all I could smell was the lingering, sickening scent of another woman on his skin. My stomach, which had finally settled, twisted violently. I was so overwhelmed that I shoved him away, stumbling out of bed and rushing to the bathroom. The violent sound of my retching echoed through the room. Derek, who had followed me in, watched with a slight frown. “The doctor said morning sickness stops after three months. Why are you still throwing up?” My stomach was cramping, so I didn’t answer him. Derek instantly grew agitated. He paced impatiently in the bathroom, then grabbed his suit, his watch, barely bothering with his tie. He glanced at me, still retching, and muttered, “Got a contract to sign. Heading to the office.” Then, without a single word of comfort, or even asking if I was okay, he walked out. Watching his retreating back, listening to the toilet flush, tears welled up and streamed down my face. So, yes, something had definitely changed. The old Derek would have been half-dead with worry if I even shed a single tear. But now? His greatest act of affection was perhaps maintaining a sliver of decency, telling me he had a “contract to sign” before openly going to meet that other girl.
Derek still didn’t come home that night. And I, still alone, cried until dawn. This was my new normal since discovering his infidelity. I couldn’t sleep when he was home. I couldn’t sleep when he wasn’t. It wasn’t until the next morning, when I saw a spot of red on my underwear, that I snapped awake, crying hysterically as I rushed to the hospital. On the way, I called Derek several times. He didn’t pick up. This was his new habit, ever since I’d ‘tolerated’ his cheating. He’d reply to my SnapChat whenever he felt like it, or not at all. It was nothing like before, when I could send him a single emoji and he’d flood me with a dozen messages. He’d ask if I’d eaten, what my plans were for the day. My chest tightened again, filled with a familiar pang of bitterness and pain from the memories. I quickly pushed the thoughts away. I couldn’t afford to get upset. The doctor at my last prenatal check-up had warned me that my emotional stress was putting the baby at risk of miscarriage. I couldn’t lose this baby. This child was our only link now, Derek’s and mine. My family was counting on this baby to keep the money flowing from Derek. And I? I was counting on this child to give me some small comfort in this desperate marriage. But thinking of the baby only brought another wave of sadness. When I first found out I was pregnant, Derek had been ecstatic, and so was I. We were so excited for this baby to be born. How, in just five short months, had it become merely a tool to connect Derek and me? A searing pain erupted in my chest, and the tears I’d been holding back finally broke free. Especially when I arrived at my OB’s office and saw Derek gently assisting a girl at the blood draw station. A crushing wave of despair washed over me. In the hospital lobby, Derek tenderly stroked the girl’s hair. “Come on, sweetie. Just let the nurse draw some blood so we can see if it’s the flu.” The girl pouted playfully up at him. “No, I hate needles.” Derek’s lips curved into a soft smile. “You’re such a child.” Then he pulled her into a tight hug and kissed her cheek several times. This was the first time I’d seen Derek interact with her. From the video that had been sent to my family group chat, I’d always pictured her as wild and provocative. But now, in person, she seemed so innocent, even a little pure. She reminded me of myself at eighteen. As I stared, frozen in disbelief, Derek spotted me. Without a trace of panic, he released the girl and walked towards me. “What are you doing here?” I swallowed hard, trying to push past the bitter lump in my throat. I was about to say I was spotting and came for a check-up. But the next second, Derek cut me off. “Are you stalking me?” The words I’d been about to say died in my throat. Derek’s angry words continued. “Willow, I thought we had an understanding, a truce, that we wouldn’t make a scene. We agreed to coexist peacefully.” “But I never thought you’d stoop to something so disgusting.” A suffocating pain seized my chest again. I couldn’t believe I looked so monstrous in Derek’s eyes now. Seeing us arguing, the girl Derek had been with walked over. She tugged on Derek’s arm, then looked at me with an apologetic expression. “Oh, Willow, I’m so sorry. Derek’s been under a lot of stress with work lately. His temper’s a bit frayed.” Then she turned back to Derek. “Derek, don’t be mad at Willow. She’s definitely not stalking you. This is a hospital; she must be here for something important.” With that, the girl walked over and linked her arm through mine. “Willow, are you not feeling well? Derek told me last night you’re still having morning sickness at five months.” “Are you here because something’s wrong with the baby? Did you make an appointment? I’ll have Derek go with you to see the doctor, okay?” Her arm linked with mine felt like a poisonous snake coiling. I wanted to endure it, to suppress the pain in my chest, to smile politely and tell her “no thanks,” to thank her. To calmly explain to Derek that I was just here because of some spotting, a potential miscarriage. But it had been two months since I discovered Derek’s infidelity. I had suppressed too much, restrained too much. The pain had long since exceeded what I could bear. So, when she provoked me so brazenly, and Derek didn’t say a single word in my defense, I finally broke. I angrily yanked my arm away and took two steps back. “Why are you touching me? Are you trying to infect me with your flu? Don’t you know I’m pregnant? I can’t be around sickness!” I don’t know how it happened, but I barely used any force, yet the girl suddenly stumbled and fell to the ground. Seeing her fall, Derek instantly exploded. “Willow, what the hell are you doing? Why did you push Skylar?!” With that, Derek rushed over, roughly pushing me aside, and helped the girl up. Being shoved by Derek didn’t hurt physically, but it was suffocating. I tried to hold back again, but I couldn’t. “Derek, don’t forget I’m your wife! You’re openly cuddling with another woman in public! You don’t give me any respect, so why should I give you any?!” As I said this, my fingers, clutching my purse, trembled slightly. The girl standing beside Derek suddenly burst into tears. “I’m so sorry, Willow! I… I really didn’t mean to! I was just worried about you, that’s why I came over and held your arm!” “Please, I’m begging you, don’t argue with Derek! It’s my fault! Please, don’t be angry!” Then, the girl suddenly pushed Derek away. “Derek, you stay here with Willow. I… I’m leaving.” With that, she scurried out of the hospital. Derek’s face instantly turned ashen. He glared at me with pure hatred. “Willow, you are being absolutely ridiculous!” Then, he didn’t spare me another glance, and rushed after the girl. Watching his retreating back, tears streamed down my face. Ridiculous? So, he cheats, and if I dare to question it, I’m deemed ridiculous? My chest throbbed with a numb ache. Just then, the nurse called, asking why I hadn’t arrived for my appointment. I wiped my tears and walked towards the examination room. Thankfully, the results were good. The spotting was still due to a threatened miscarriage, but I only needed medication and bed rest at home; no hospitalization was required. As I left, the doctor reminded me to absolutely, absolutely avoid emotional agitation. If I kept stressing myself out, there was a high chance I could lose the baby. A dense, throbbing pain flared in my chest. Leaving the hospital, I hardened my resolve once more. I was done. Truly, truly done letting Derek yank my strings. My baby was all that mattered. But then, my father called that night. His voice, frayed with age, was thick with exhaustion. “Willow, honey… Could you ask Derek something? Ask him why he’s decided to stop covering the company’s interest payments next month.” I calmly told Dad I’d ask him that night. But the moment I hung up, I couldn’t hold back the sobs. I hadn’t realized Skylar, that girl, was that important. Important enough that merely a few harsh words from me that afternoon, and Derek was cutting off my father’s funds to manipulate me. A wave of disgust washed over me. But it was nothing compared to the crushing despair that followed. Despair for this broken, rotting marriage I was trapped in.
Two hours of tears led to one inevitable call. I asked Derek about the money for my dad. His answer was swift and cutting. “I’m a little short myself. Tell your dad to find a loan. Maybe I’ll pay next month.” My grip on the phone tightened. I swallowed hard, steadying my voice. “What will it take?” The line clicked onto speaker. “Apologize to Skylar. Now. I’m buying her a car tonight to make her happy. Make her happy for me, and I’ll have the cash for your dad.” Rage, pure and blinding, surged through me. I wanted to shriek at the humiliation. But then a sharp, twisting cramp seized my lower stomach, a visceral reminder that steadied me. Even though it hurt, really, really hurt, I still trembled as I spoke into the phone to the girl on the other end. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have pushed you this afternoon. I shouldn’t have yelled at you this afternoon. I was wrong.” As I spoke, I gripped the phone so tightly, even biting my lip until it bled, just to keep my voice even. The moment my words faded, the girl’s sweet voice came through the phone. “Willow, don’t say that. You don’t need to apologize. I just lost my footing this afternoon.” “It’s all Derek’s fault. I was sick with the flu and felt bad, so I didn’t want to talk to him. But he thought I was angry and insisted you apologize to me.” “I’m not angry at all. I’m already so happy you’re willing to share Derek with me. Really, I’m not mad. Aren’t you pregnant? You should take care of yourself first.” Listening to the girl’s voice, tears streamed down my face. I dug my nails so hard into my flesh that it was the only thing stopping me from sobbing out loud. And the moment the girl finished, Derek took the phone back. Then, casually and lazily, he said to me, “Willow, see? Skylar is so compliant. In the future, you should learn from her. Don’t be so arrogant and look down on everyone all the time. I’ll have the finance department transfer your dad’s funds later tonight.” With that, Derek hung up. And listening to the dial tone, I finally couldn’t hold back the torment in my heart and burst into tears. Especially when, through my tear-filled eyes, I saw the high school graduation photo of Derek and me displayed in the room. The pain surging in my chest instantly felt like a thousand sharp blades piercing my heart. Derek and I were high school classmates. But, unfortunately, he was a scholarship student, and I came from money. Because our circles were different, our social lives different, even after being classmates for three years, I’d probably exchanged no more than ten sentences with him. And back then, I had a boyfriend. After high school, I went abroad, and my boyfriend and I broke up amicably due to the long distance. Then, I returned to the country. It was at my dad’s company that I ran into Derek. He was a vendor coming to discuss a partnership. Seeing me, Derek immediately called out my name. It took me a long time to remember who he was. But after that, Derek began to pursue me relentlessly. My dad was happy about it, saying Derek was self-made and capable, someone destined for great things. And I, too, felt a certain fondness for Derek. He was gentle and polite, witty and humorous, a top student from a renowned university, and he had even started his own company. Derek and I were together for two years when he told me he’d loved me for ten. I was swept away by the romance of it. So when he proposed a year later, I didn’t hesitate. Back then, I thought I was the luckiest woman alive to have found my perfect match. Then came our wedding night. Derek, drunk, slurred the words that shattered my reality. “Willow… why aren’t you like you were at eighteen?” In that moment, a cold dread seized me. But he never slipped again, treating me with the same devotion as before. I convinced myself I’d imagined it. It wasn’t until Derek’s cheating video surfaced, until I met that girl today. The clothes she wore were my favorite brand from eighteen. The mole by her eye was a near-perfect copy of mine. And in that moment, I understood everything. Derek never loved the woman I had become. He always loved the eighteen-year-old girl he could never have back then. My heart ached with suffocation, and that night, I developed a high fever. Maria tried to persuade me to go to the hospital several times, but I refused. I didn’t know who I was trying to spite, but all I knew was that there was a huge, empty space in my chest. It wasn’t until the middle of the night, when blood started gushing from my lower body, staining my pajamas and the sheets beneath me, that I panicked with terror. I started screaming hysterically for Maria. I started hysterically calling Derek. But Derek, like always, didn’t pick up. The blood kept coming. Then the contractions seized me-hard and wrong. That’s when the hysteria won. Sobbing, I managed to grab my phone and call my parents. I don’t know what I said on the phone. The only thought my mind could hold was that I was dying. And my baby was dying too. Everything after that was a fractured nightmare. The ambulance. My mom and dad, each gripping a hand, their voices trembling. “Willow, stay awake.” “Honey, please, don’t close your eyes.” I felt my lips move, but no sound came out. The next thing I knew, I was under the harsh lights of the ER. And there he was. Derek’s hair was wild, his shirt misbuttoned, collar askew. He was a storm of fury and panic, shoving towards the operating room doors. “Willow, don’t die! Please don’t die!” The words had barely left his mouth before my dad’s fist connected with his face. After that, everything went black. When I finally swam back to consciousness and my eyes fluttered open, my mother gasped. She rushed to my bedside, her face crumpling as she clutched my hand. “Willow, I promise you, you can divorce him. We’ll do it. Your father has a plan. We’ll sell the house, the cars. I don’t care if we have to live on the street, you are divorcing that man.” A wave of relief washed through me, so profound it could only escape as silent tears. “Okay.”
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