My husband cheated on me in front of everyone. I «got revenge»! I spent the night with a homeless guy… And got pregnant… But when I went for the abortion, I froze at what I saw….
«And now what?» He threw the roses on the floor. «You’re going to give birth to who knows whose?» «I’ll give birth to whoever will be there,» I answered and closed the door. John banged for another five minutes, then left.
And I sat on the floor in the hallway and cried. Not from self-pity, but from relief. Finally, everything’s said.
Arthur found me a month later. Just knocked on the door on a Saturday evening when I was reading a book about pregnancy. «How did you find the address?» I asked, letting him in.
«Through the clinic reception,» he answered. «Sorry for intruding, but I was worried.» He brought a bag of groceries and a thermos of soup.
«You don’t have to,» I said. «I know.» He took off his jacket. «But I want to.»
We had dinner in silence. Then he washed the dishes, and I watched him move around my small kitchen. Confidently, calmly, as if he’d been here many times.
«Arthur,» I said. «What if the baby isn’t yours?» «What if it is?» he countered. «Then it’s complicated.» «It’s already complicated.»
He wiped his hands on a towel. «But that doesn’t mean it’s hopeless.» In the fourth month, John showed up with a lawyer.
Demanded a DNA test. Threatened court for property division. Yelled that he wouldn’t let a stranger’s kid be raised on his money…
I stood in the doorway of my apartment, covering my rounding belly, and listened as the man I’d lived with for eight years turned into a stranger and angry. «You realize what you’re doing,» he shouted. «Destroying the family for some random guy.»
«You destroyed the family,» I answered quietly. «Olivia knows you’re here, by the way.» The lawyer tugged John’s sleeve, signaling it was time to go.
But my husband tried one more time. «Emily, come to your senses. I don’t care whose kid it is.
Come back, we’ll start over.» «Too late,» I said and closed the door. Arthur was standing on the stairs one floor down.
He came up when John and the lawyer left. «Been here long?» I asked. «Long enough to step in if needed,» he answered. «It wasn’t.»
«I see.» He hugged me. «Everything good?» I nodded, burying my face in his shoulder.
«Yes, everything’s good. Finally.» Our daughter was born in May, when lilacs were blooming outside the hospital windows.
Arthur held my hand during contractions and was the first to hold Sophia when the doctor showed her to me. «A beauty,» he said, looking at the wrinkled red face. «A real beauty.
Sophia.» We chose the name a week before birth, sitting on a park bench and going through options. Arthur suggested classic names, I modern ones.
Then he said, «How about just Sophia?» And I knew—yes, exactly Sophia. John came on the third day with a huge bouquet and a box of baby clothes. Stood in the ward doorway, looked at me with the baby in my arms, and was silent.
«Can I see?» he asked finally. I nodded. He approached, carefully folded back the blanket corner, and stared at Sophia’s face for a long time.
«Who does she look like?» he asked quietly. «Herself,» I answered. It was true. Sophia was amazingly independent from day one, not like me, not Arthur, not John.
Just Sophia. «Do the test?» John suggested. «Why?» «To know.»..
