"My husband was keeping a girl. She was young, fresh, and uninhibited in bed, giving him experiences he’d never had before. He’d remind her to take her pill, and she’d pout, joking that she wanted to have his baby. He would warn her, dead serious, that if she ever got pregnant, she’d get an abortion and a goodbye. He would only allow his wife to bear his children. It sounds almost romantic, in a twisted way. So, I told him: ""I'm pregnant."" He just fell silent. Because we hadn’t slept together in five years. 1 “I cheated on you.” I expected Harris to be completely unfazed, to ask me with a smirk if I’d had a good time. Instead, his brow furrowed. He stared at me for a long moment, saying nothing. Did he not believe me? Oh, right. I’d tried this bluff once before, five years ago. The hatred in my heart had been a living thing back then, but at the last possible second, a sliver of clarity broke through. Ruining myself just to get back at him wasn’t worth it. I pushed Leo, Harris’s best friend, away and got out of the bed. Still, I let my malice guide me. I covered my skin in marks, went home, and told Harris I’d had an affair. “Let’s get a divorce,” I’d said. For a split second, his eyes turned red. But that was the extent of it. The moment I found out about his affair, the elegant, composed woman I was supposed to be shattered. A panic attack seized me, my breath coming in ragged gasps, my fingers curling into rigid claws. I thought I was dying. Harris, ever the pragmatist, calmly found a paper bag for me to breathe into. He calmly explained. He calmly made promises. “Sloane, we’ve been married for five years. I’m a man with needs. Anyone would get tired of eating the same meal every day.” “I’m under a lot of pressure at work. Sometimes I need an outlet for my stress, but you’re my wife. I have to respect you.” “I can give you everything you want. Everything except total physical fidelity.” I looked at him through a blur of tears, the question burning on my tongue. Do you still love me? But I didn’t say a word. He was sleeping with someone else. Love was no longer part of the equation. 2 I washed my face and demanded a divorce. Harris wasn't surprised. He told me to calm down, to think it through. Of course. Since I’d discovered his infidelity, he had remained perfectly composed, managing the situation with unnerving stability. Even after I slapped him with all the strength I could muster, his gaze remained steady, as if he were watching a child throw a tantrum. When I raised my hand to strike him again, he caught my wrist easily. The chasm of strength between a man and a woman was absolute; I couldn't break free. Instead, he pulled me into an embrace that had once been my sanctuary but now felt like a cage of ice. He urged me to reconsider. My parents urged me. Even my best friend urged me. And why wouldn't they? In everyone's eyes, including my own parents', I was no longer in Harris’s league. I had simply gotten in on the ground floor, weathering the toughest years of his startup. I was an early-stage venture capitalist who had hit the jackpot. He was a titan of industry, and I was reaping the rewards. A divorce? The sunk costs were too high. The public humiliation would be unbearable. And when three people tell you you’re a tiger, you start to believe it. Back then, I hesitated. To win me back, Harris spared no expense. Gifts arrived in a relentless stream. Beyond the jewelry, he bought me a yacht and a private island in the San Juans, complete with a glass-walled villa and a full-time caretaker. He even cleared his schedule for two weeks to sail there with me, just the two of us. We watched the sunrise over the Pacific and ate sashimi from tuna caught an hour before. We walked along the beach, the sky painted with the brilliant colors of sunset. He was more attentive, more tender than he had been even when we first started dating. For a moment, I allowed myself to be swayed. Until the dead of night. Harris emerged from the shower, his warm body, still damp, wrapping around me from behind. My mind, a traitor, instantly flashed to the chat logs on his phone. The girl’s endless stream of flirty messages and life updates, which he never responded to. But then she’d asked him to pick a style of lingerie for her to wear. He had replied. Just one word. A claw seemed to seize my heart, squeezing tighter and tighter. “Do you kiss her when you’re with her?” I asked, my voice cold. Harris’s hand on my waist went rigid. I tore his arm away and ran to the bathroom. The exquisite dinner we’d shared ended up as a pool of sick in the toilet bowl. The two-week vacation was over in two days. 3 After that, I became a detective, obsessively searching his clothes for a clue, a trace of her. A smudge of lipstick on a collar, the lingering scent of perfume. Nothing. His shirts were always pristine. I found nothing. But the string inside me, pulled tighter and tighter with each late night he came home, finally snapped. After one particularly vicious, hysterical fight, he resorted to the silent treatment. The moment I realized I had become a shrew, a bitter nag, panic set in. And then, the cruelest irony of all: I discovered I was pregnant. This should have been the happiest news of my life. I wanted a child more than anything, but we’d struggled for years. We went to clinics. There was nothing wrong with me, nothing wrong with him. It just never happened. We had started the IVF conversation. I’d already endured hundreds of injections, my body a pincushion of failed hope. In the emotional wreckage of his affair, I had been bleeding intermittently, too consumed by misery to pay it much mind. I never imagined that this little life I had longed for would choose to arrive now, when all my hope was gone. I didn't tell Harris. I went to the clinic alone and had the abortion. When I woke up from the anesthesia, I felt a profound, soul-crushing emptiness. That’s when Harris appeared. His face was pale, his eyes filled with a deep, cutting disappointment. “Sloane, is this your revenge? The baby was innocent…” “That’s why I couldn’t bring it into this world. How tragic is a child who isn’t born into love?” “Harris, let’s get a divorce,” I repeated, my voice flat and numb. “No. No divorce.” His resolve was even stronger than mine. 4 Five years passed. We were strangers living under the same roof. The women in Harris’s life came and went. I heard the latest one was a student from a prestigious dance academy. A girl full of life, lithe and supple. He must have really liked her; she’d been around for over six months. The last time I saw him was a few days ago. The circumstances were pure melodrama. A fender-bender on the freeway. His car rear-ended mine. He was clearly taking the girl for a day trip, maybe to the coast. She wore a floral sundress and a wide-brimmed straw hat. She didn’t know who I was. The moment she got out of the car, she rushed over, her face a mask of panic. “Ma’am, I am so, so sorry. It was my fault. I was trying to feed my boyfriend something—he gets an upset stomach if he skips breakfast, and we were in such a rush this morning… I distracted him.” She bit her lip, glossed in a shade of cherry pink. Her cheeks were flushed with a healthy, youthful glow. She was so vibrant, so beautiful, it was hard to look away. “It’s fine,” I said. My gaze shifted to Harris, and I offered him a small smile. “Our tenth anniversary is next Thursday. We should have dinner.” Harris’s expression was unreadable, but the girl’s face went white. She glanced at me, then back at him, her body instinctively pressing closer to his for support. A perfect picture of damsel in distress. Harris, however, subtly shifted away from her touch. “I’ll drive you home,” he said to me. “No need. I have somewhere to be. I wouldn’t want to ruin your plans.” The impact hadn’t been severe, but the seatbelt had jerked tight across my stomach. I was worried about the baby. I got back in my car. Just as I was about to shut the door, a hand stopped me. A shadow fell over me. “Sloane,” Harris said, his voice low as he looked down at me, his eyes dark and turbulent. “Is there nothing you want to say to me?” “Like what?” I replied, my tone laced with irony. “Did you expect me to fly into a rage and attack your mistress?” I let out a short, humorless laugh. “Don’t mistake me for someone so naive. The amount of money you give me is more than enough to buy your peace and quiet.” “Alright, then. We’ll talk next week.” Harris didn’t move. He kept his hand on the door, his gaze locked on mine, a storm brewing beneath the surface. I met his stare calmly. Finally, he pulled his hand away. I hit the gas, merging back into traffic. At the next exit, I took it, leaving the congested freeway behind. The road ahead opened up, wide and clear. Five years of marriage to Harris, and I could never get pregnant. Once I changed the father, it turned out to be the easiest thing in the world. It seemed fate had decided it for us. Our paths were always meant to diverge."
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