The only person I trusted as much as my husband was Elise, my best friend since college and the woman I had chosen as family. She had been radiant with excitement when I told her I was pregnant, celebrating louder than I did, crying over ultrasound photos and buying baby socks before I even reached twelve weeks. When I lost the baby, I assumed she would be by my side, holding me together when I could barely stand. Instead, she grew distant, sending messages that felt hollow and rehearsed, telling me my grief was hard for her to witness. She promised she would come see me when she could, but she never did. Six weeks later, while I was still barely functioning, my phone buzzed with a message that made my vision blur. Elise was pregnant. She invited me to her gender reveal, decorating the message with hearts and exclamation points. When Camden walked into the room and saw the text, the way he froze should have told me everything. Instead of understanding my pain, he insisted I attend, telling me I couldn’t make it about myself. Grief had made me vulnerable, and betrayal had not yet learned my name.
The gender reveal was exactly as Elise would design it—loud, extravagant, overflowing with forced joy. When she hugged me, she commented on how much better I looked, as if grief were something you simply wore on your face until it became inconvenient. Camden disappeared into the crowd almost immediately, leaving me standing alone with a knot in my chest. Elise’s speech felt strange, filled with references to unexpected blessings, second chances, and people who show up when life surprises you. As she spoke, her eyes locked onto someone across the room. I followed her gaze and felt my stomach drop. She was staring directly at my husband. Moments later, pink confetti filled the air and people erupted in cheers. I slipped outside, desperate for air, only to see through a window the truth I had been shielding myself from. Camden stood in a hallway with Elise, his hand resting casually on her belly before he leaned in and kissed her—not guiltily, but comfortably, like a habit. I stormed back inside, my voice cutting through the music as I demanded to know what they were doing. Elise collapsed into tears, revealing that Camden was the father. My marriage ended that night. Camden didn’t follow me when I left. Continue reading…
