Chapter 2 - THE WOMAN CARRYING HIS CHILD|
I drove to Northwestern Memorial Hospital with a bag of homemade breakfast for Margaret Blackwood.
Even after discovering my husband’s deception, I could not bring myself to abandon his mother without warning. For almost four years, I had managed her appointments, organized her prescriptions, argued with insurance companies, and stayed beside her through two frightening hospital admissions.
Margaret had always told me that I was the daughter she never had.
I wanted to believe that affection had been genuine.
As I approached her room, I heard laughter behind the door.
Margaret was speaking to a woman.
Then I recognized Vanessa Reed’s voice.
“Honestly, Margaret, you don’t have to keep buying things for me.”
“Nonsense, sweetheart,” Margaret replied. “You’re carrying my grandchild. You need to take care of yourself.”
The breakfast bag slipped slightly in my hand.
Vanessa laughed softly.
“Emma does so much for you. I sometimes feel guilty.”
“Emma is capable of handling the household. That’s what she’s good at.”
I stared at the closed door.
Margaret continued, her voice full of affection.
“You’re different. You have a gift. Dominic always needed someone who could bring music back into his life.”
Music.
The word struck me harder than an insult.
Vanessa had been a singer before moving away from Chicago. Dominic used to tell me that she had been his closest friend during college. He said she had left the city to pursue her career and that their relationship had ended long before he met me.
Apparently, he had forgotten to mention the part where she was carrying his child.
I pushed the door open.
Both women turned toward me.
Margaret’s smile disappeared.
Vanessa sat in the visitor’s chair wearing a cream-colored maternity dress. One hand rested protectively over the gentle curve of her stomach. On the table beside her lay a bouquet of white roses and a shopping bag from an expensive baby boutique.
“Emma,” Margaret said.
Her voice contained surprise, but no guilt.
Vanessa slowly stood.
“Oh, Emma. I didn’t know you were coming.”
“I can see that.”
I placed Margaret’s breakfast on the table.
For several seconds, nobody spoke.
Then I looked at Vanessa.
“How far along are you?”
Her fingers tightened over her stomach.
“Twenty weeks.”
Five months.
My husband had been pretending he could not hear me while another woman carried his child.
“Does Dominic know?”
Vanessa looked offended.
“Of course he knows. He’s the father.”
Margaret shifted uncomfortably.
“Emma, this is not the time for a scene.”
I almost laughed.
A scene?
I had spent three years making myself smaller so my husband would never feel overwhelmed by my voice. I had sacrificed conversations, affection, and dignity because I believed he was struggling with a disability.
Now I was standing in a hospital room where his mother openly celebrated his mistress’s pregnancy.
“I’m not making a scene,” I said. “I’m asking a question.”
Vanessa lowered her eyes.
“Dominic and I have been together for a while.”
“How long?”
She looked at Margaret before answering.
“Almost two years.”
Two years.
The same period when Dominic had started refusing couples’ counseling.
The same period when he had begun sleeping in the guest room, claiming that my movements disturbed his hearing devices.
The same period when I had cried over negative pregnancy tests while he told me we should stop putting so much pressure on ourselves.
I looked at Margaret.
“Did you know?”
Her silence answered before her words did.
“Dominic deserves to be happy,” she finally said.
I nodded slowly.
For the first time, I understood that my marriage had not been a private failure between two people.
May you like
It had been a family arrangement.
And I had been the only person who did not know the rules.
