I told myself I would endure this for him
“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.
I told myself I would endure this for him
So I stayed.
Not because I forgave my husband — I didn’t. I barely spoke to him beyond what was necessary. I pulled away emotionally, focusing only on eating properly, attending appointments, and preparing for the birth. I told myself I would deal with the marriage later. My child came first.
Months passed in a strange, numb haze.
Then labor began.
The pain was overwhelming, primal, and all-consuming — but when I finally heard my son cry for the first time, everything else faded away. They placed him on my chest, warm and unbelievably small. His tiny fingers wrapped around mine.
In that moment, I didn’t think about betrayal. I didn’t think about lies. I thought only about him.
My dad came to the hospital later that day.
