When my daughter needed surgery, I braced myself for massive hospital bills. What I wasn’t prepared for was the choice her father would make, or the call I’d have to place because of it.
I was 24 when I fell in love with Derek. Back then, he had a way of making big promises sound easy.
By 26, we had Molly, a tiny bundle, and what I believed was a steady marriage.
Two years later, Derek was promoted to regional sales director at his company, and that’s when things changed.
The new title came with a raise, longer hours, and business trips that stretched from two to four days.
It also came with secretive smiles at his phone and a password I suddenly didn’t know.
I remember standing in the kitchen one evening, watching Derek type quickly with his back turned.
“Who are you texting?” I asked, keeping my tone light.
Derek didn’t look up. “Work.”
At the time, I wanted to believe that answer.
By the time I turned 29, I learned the truth the hard way. The woman’s name was Tessa.
She was seven years younger than me, worked in marketing, and had bright blond hair.
I found out because I chose to look when the suspicions wouldn’t go away.
I borrowed Derek’s laptop one afternoon when he left it open on the dining room table. My hands shook, but I opened his email anyway. I told myself I’d stop if I saw nothing.
I didn’t stop.
There were hotel confirmations. Dinner reservations. Messages that began with “Can’t wait to see you again.”
When I confronted Derek, he didn’t even try to deny it.
“I didn’t mean for it to happen,” he said.
“You and I… we’ve been distant.”
“Distant?” I laughed, but it sounded like something breaking. “We have a three-year-old.
That’s called being parents.”
The divorce was quick and bitter.
Derek moved in with Tessa within a month.
I stayed in our small house with Molly and learned how to stretch every dollar.
I picked up freelance bookkeeping at night after she went to bed, folded laundry while answering emails, and clipped coupons as if it were a competitive sport.
Derek paid child support. Only the bare minimum and always on time, like a generic bill.
He rarely called unless it was his scheduled weekend.
Molly would sit by the window waiting for Derek’s truck. Sometimes he’d text 15 minutes before pickup.
Molly was five but was already learning how to swallow disappointment.
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