Because I knew if I looked at his face, I would either scream or collapse.
Possibly both.
I drove straight to my parents’ house.
And when my mother opened the door, I made it three steps into the hallway before my knees gave out.
Part 2 — “I’m Divorcing Him”
My mother didn’t ask questions immediately.
She simply wrapped her arms around me.
That made everything worse.
I had been holding myself together through the drive, telling myself not to cry too hard, not to get worked up, not to frighten myself with every ache or tightening in my stomach.
But the moment Mom held me, I broke.
“I can’t do this,” I sobbed.
She guided me toward the living room.
“Do what?”
“He’s cheating on me.”
The words sounded unreal when I said them aloud.
Mom’s arms tightened around me.
“What?”
I showed her the photographs.
She didn’t finish looking through all of them.
Her face changed after the first few.
“Oh, sweetheart.”
That was all she said.
And somehow, hearing kindness instead of explanation or excuse made me cry even harder.
I spent the afternoon curled on my childhood bed.
It was the same room where I had once worried about exams, friendships, bad haircuts, and whether some boy would call me back.
Those problems seemed almost sweet now.
My marriage was ending.
My child hadn’t even been born yet.
Every version of the future I had imagined was collapsing at once.
I kept thinking about practical things.
Where would the baby and I live?
Could I afford everything alone?
How would custody work?
Would Daniel bring another woman around our son?
Would I have to hand over my newborn child to a man I suddenly felt I didn’t know?
Then another thought would crash through the practical questions.
He touched me after touching her.
I would feel sick again.
Sometime after sunset, there was a soft knock on the bedroom door.
“Come in.”
My father entered.
Dad had always been the safest person in my life.
When I was six and afraid of thunderstorms, he used to sit on the floor beside my bed until I fell asleep.
When I failed my driving test the first time, he bought me ice cream and told me that one bad afternoon wasn’t a character assessment.
When Daniel asked for permission to marry me, Dad had cried afterward.
He adored him.
Or I thought he did.
Dad sat on the edge of the bed.
For a while, he said nothing.
Then:
“Your mom told me what happened.”
I looked at him.
“I’m divorcing him.”
The certainty in my voice surprised even me.
Dad’s expression barely changed.
“You don’t need to decide anything tonight.”
“I already decided.”
“You’re upset.”
“Of course I’m upset.”
“I didn’t mean—”
“He’s sleeping with another woman, Dad.”
My voice broke.
“He was lying beside me at night after being with her.”
Dad looked away.
I pressed my palms against my eyes.
“I want him gone. I want a lawyer. I don’t ever want to trust him again.”
Dad was quiet for so long that I finally looked at him.
What he said next changed the way I saw him.
“You should stay with Daniel until the baby is born.”
I stared.
“What?”
“For now.”
“No.”
“Claire—”
“No.”
I sat up.
“You’re seriously telling me to stay with him?”
Dad’s jaw tightened.
“I think you should avoid turning this into a divorce battle while you’re pregnant.”
I couldn’t believe what I was hearing.
“You raised me not to tolerate people treating me badly.”
“I know.”
“And now you’re telling me to go back to a man who’s cheating on me?”
Dad exhaled slowly.
Then he said something even worse.
“I cheated on your mother when she was pregnant with you.”
The room went completely silent.
