The antiseptic scent still filled my hospital room, and I could feel the aftereffects of childbirth throughout my body as I thought about my soon-to-be-ex-husband, Adrian, who had no idea about the existence of the baby girl I had just given birth to.
I glanced down at my infant daughter, who was snuggled peacefully next to me in a beautiful little crib, and chuckled softly to myself.
“Of course,” I replied into the phone. “I’ll definitely be there.”
Adrian had no clue what he was going to find at his wedding, but once he did, his life would be flipped upside down.
When he called me while I was still lying in bed in the hospital, I immediately saw his name on my phone and was flooded with feelings similar to those I had felt when I was fighting through those memories to get my life back on track.
“I want you to come to my wedding,” Adrian’s voice dripped with arrogance and superiority. “You need to see what a real woman looks like. Celeste is pregnant, unlike you.”
For a few moments, I didn’t know how to respond; I was at a loss for words.
Lying in a clear bassinet next to me was my daughter, with a tiny hand gripped against her cheek. My husband, Adrian, had walked out on me after I had been married to him for seven years. He had walked out on me after I had lost two babies due to doctors telling us I needed time to heal from my losses. He had told me that I was “broken.” His mother had told me I was “barren” and that I would never be able to have children. His assistant, Celeste, had even sent me flowers after Adrian and I divorced with a card that read, “Some women are chosen.”
No one knew that I was never going to let their words or actions bring me down or make me disappear. I did not disappear out of shame; I disappeared out of love and protection for my child.
I looked back to my daughter’s name bracelet and read: Baby Girl Vale. My last name. Not his.
“Okay,” I said confidently. “I’ll be there.”
There was silence on the other end of the phone. Adrian likely thought I would break down in tears or beg him to take me back.
“Great,” he replied.”Wear something appropriate, and don’t embarrass yourself,” He says.
“I don’t embarrass myself.”
After he hung up the phone, I couldn’t stop looking at the leather folder sitting on the chair next to my bed. Within it are all of the financial records, email correspondence, notarized legal documents, and the paternity test. My lawyer had me get before I had given birth, with regard to the paternity test.