The woman asked,
“And what about us?”
“What about us?”
“You keep saying you’re going to leave her.”
A pause followed.
Then
Elon’s voice softened.
“I will.”
“Promise?”
“Yes, sweetheart. I want to be with you.”
My heart began pounding.
I looked down at Sophie.
She was drifting off to sleep, completely unaware of what I was hearing.
Then Elon said something that hurt more than I thought possible.
“I can barely stand being around Maddie anymore.”
Sierra laughed softly.
And my husband continued.
“I don’t love her the way I used to. Honestly, sometimes I think I hate her.”
I couldn’t breathe.
Then came the sentence that changed everything.
“I’ll divorce her. And when it’s over, I’ll marry you.”
I heard them exchange another affectionate remark.
Then I ended the call.
I stood in the nursery, staring at the dark screen.
My reflection looked unfamiliar.
My hair was twisted into a messy clip.
There was a milk stain on my shirt.
Dark circles rested beneath my eyes.
I hadn’t slept properly
in weeks.
And I suddenly wondered when I’d become someone my own husband couldn’t stand.
Then Sophie made a small hungry sound.
I looked at her.
Her eyes were closed.
Her little mouth moved impatiently.
And I realized that no matter what had just happened, she still needed me.
So I picked up her bottle.
Sat in the rocking chair.
And fed my daughter.
I watched the milk disappear, ounce by ounce.
I burped her.
Changed her diaper.
Placed her carefully in her crib.
Then I went into the hallway bathroom.
I turned on the fan.
Sat on the edge of the bathtub.
Pressed a towel against my face.
And cried.
I didn’t call Elon back.
I didn’t send him an angry message.
I didn’t telephone my mother.
For the first time in months, I gave myself permission to do absolutely nothing for someone else.
I simply sat there.
Thinking.
Breathing.
Trying to understand what I’d heard.
Eventually, I made a decision.
Elon wasn’t going to know that I knew. Not yet.
Two hours later, the front door opened.
“Maddie?”
I washed my face before going downstairs.
Elon stood in the kitchen holding a small bouquet of grocery-store daisies and a box of chocolates.
“For my favorite girls,” he announced.
I stared at the flowers.
