“I know what happened,” he said quietly.
I looked at him through swollen eyes. “I’m divorcing him.”
He stayed silent for a moment. Then he spoke carefully, as though every word carried weight.
“You should stay with your husband for the sake of your baby.”
Something twisted inside me. “What?”
“I also cheated on your mom when she was pregnant,” he said, his voice low. “It’s just male physiology. It doesn’t mean anything.”
I froze.
The room went quiet except for the sound of my uneven breathing. My father — the man I had admired my entire life — was admitting something I had never imagined possible.
“You… cheated on Mom?” I whispered.
He nodded slowly, his eyes fixed on the floor.
The pain shifted. It wasn’t only about my husband anymore. It was about everything I thought I understood about love, loyalty, and marriage. If my father — who had always adored my mother — had done that… then maybe men were simply wired that way. Maybe it was weakness. Maybe it meant nothing.
I hated that thought. But I was exhausted. I was pregnant. My body was already under so much pressure. The doctor had warned me about stress.
That night, lying awake, I felt my baby move inside me. A small kick. A reminder.
