For years, I accepted all of the excuses my husband made for his behaviour; today, all of those excuses turned out to have been lies.
“How long has this been going on?” I asked him with a whisper.
“To be honest with you, I had contacted an investigator first thing this morning,” he blew a breath of relief.
“Really?”
“Yes. After yesterday, I didn’t want to wait to find out what was going on.”
He paused before he continued, “I received preliminary information from the investigator an hour ago; the name of the female is Vanessa.”
The name hit me in the gut.
“Vanessa? Is she new?”
My grip became tighter on the blankets.
“Do you want me to tell you how long this has been going on?”
I could see the look on my dad’s face that said he didn’t want to tell me the answer.
“Over six years now.”
Six years was more than half the length of my marriage. Eric was cheating on me almost from the beginning of our marriage. Megan came walking in with a cup of coffee in her hand, looked at the picture, and sat down next to me.
“Oh my God!” she said softly.
I couldn’t cry; the knowledge of Eric’s betrayal was too overwhelming. I felt my brain shut down because it wouldn’t accept this information. Then, of course, my dad finished his statement with additional words that only made things worse.
“You are not going to believe this.”
I didn’t believe him, but I continued to listen.
“What?”
“The small boy is not the only child of his.”
We sat in complete silence.
“What did you say!” I exclaimed.
“There are two.”
I shook my head, denying the truth.
“No!” But he didn’t recant that statement because it is the truth.I was alone when I attended my first doctor’s appointment; I was alone when I was decorating the nursery; I was alone when I believed I was building my future with Eric.
Later that day, after Eric had spent the morning calling all our friends and family, he was escorted up to my hospital room by security. When he walked into my room, he saw the picture of me and our son next to my bed, and the colour drained from his face.
I immediately understood what his reaction meant.
“Claire,” he said tentatively.
“Who is she?” I demanded.
He went still.
“Who?” he asked.
I picked up the picture.
“Don’t insult me.”
He looked at my father, which was a huge mistake. My father stood up slowly; he was very calm and collected but in a way that scared me.
“You have one chance to tell me the truth,” my father warned.
Eric swallowed hard.
“It’s complicated,” he finally said.
I laughed at his ridiculousness—there was nothing funny about this. The years of his lies, the years of his betrayal, were somehow reduced to the word complicated.
“Is he your son?” I pressed.
Eric did not answer.
“Answer me,” I urged.
He finally dropped his shoulders and nodded.
The moment was surreal; the atmosphere went completely still. At that moment, the world around me stopped, as did a part of me. Nothing mattered to me any longer. Every excuse, every second chance, every promise he made was gone.
“Get out,” I said firmly.
“Please, Claire,” he begged.
“I said get out.”
“I can explain,” he offered.
“Get out,” I repeated.
Eric was becoming desperate.
“You are carrying my child,” he shouted.
Those words echoed in the large room, however I felt calm. He was not ashamed of what he did, he was ashamed that he got caught doing it.
“You left your child on the side of the road yesterday,” I told him softly.
His mouth opened and closed.
“You left us both,” I repeated.