At that moment, I was sitting in the waiting area of the clinic when I heard a voice that I had believed I had finally fled from for good. My ex-boyfriend had a sneering expression on his face as he displayed his pregnant wife and said, “She gave me kids while you never could.” He was completely unaware that my reaction would leave him in utter disbelief.
While I was holding my appointment paper tightly, I glanced over at the posters that were decorating the walls of the waiting area of the women’s health clinic. These posters were advertising prenatal courses and fertility tests.
My tummy was filled with the usual knot of apprehensive excitement that came and went. It seemed like I was entering a fresh chapter after all that I had been through, and this visit was exactly that.
When I was browsing through my phone, I suddenly heard a voice that I hadn’t heard in years. It slashed through the room like a rusty knife:
Observe who has arrived! I’m going to suppose that you’ve finally made up your mind to get assessed.
I became numb. As soon as I heard the news, my stomach sank through the floor. During those terrible disagreements, that voice, and speaking with that specific brand of sadistic enjoyment, used to reverberate around our kitchen where we were having the argument.
As I raised my eyes, I saw that Chris, my ex-husband, was smiling as if he had been practicing for this moment his whole life.
“My new wife already gave me two kids — something you couldn’t do for ten years!”
It was at that moment that a lady emerged from behind him. On the basis of the size of her tummy, she was about eight months pregnant at the time.
“Here she is!” His chest swelled out like a rooster in a henhouse as he bent over to rest a hand on the woman’s stomach. He seemed to be getting excited. My wife, Liza, is seen here! We anticipate having our third child!
A wicked sneer appeared on his face as he looked at me, as if he had just struck me just where it ached.
Something about his arrogant grin took me back ten years.
When he took notice of me, I was 18 years old. I was the timid girl who believed that being selected by the most popular kid in the class meant that I had won the jackpot.
I was eighteen years old and naive enough to believe that love was like those “Love Is…” mugs that were in my grandmother’s kitchen; it consisted of just holding hands and smiling eternally. I was not notified about the disagreements that occurred around vacant nursery.
We tied the knot just after we graduated from high school, and within a short period of time, all of my idealized notions of living a happily ever after were destroyed.
It was not a partner that Chris desired; rather, he wanted a housewife who could produce offspring at his command. Each and every holiday turned into yet more reminder that the nursery was still vacant, and each and every calm supper turned into a challenge.
It seemed as if the walls of the home were closing in for a little bit more each month.
Every time I had a negative test result, he made me feel as if I was not a powerful enough woman.
It was at such dreadful meals that he would mumble, “If you could just do your part,” when the only thing that could be heard was the sound of cutlery scraping against plates. The guilt that was reflected in his eyes was so intense that it wounded harder than any scream could ever do. “What’s wrong with you?”
I found myself listening to those four lines over and over again whenever I walked by a playground or if a friend revealed that they were expecting another child. They were the soundtrack of my 20s.
What is the most terrible aspect? I was fooled by him.
For many years, I had to endure that pain, and I cried over every negative test result because I wanted that kid just as much as anybody else. What he saw, however, was evidence that I was nothing more than a malfunctioning piece of machinery.
I was reduced to a state of being less than human as a result of his statements.
I began to look for something that was uniquely my after years of being subjected to that persistent resentment.
I began attending courses at night when I was in college. Somewhere in the gloom of his unending blaming, I had clung to the hope of securing a job and constructing a life for myself outside of the confines of our quiet home.
“Selfish,” he referred to me when I indicated that I was interested in enrolling in a psychology lecture. It is expected of you to be concentrating on providing me with a family. It won’t be long until your lessons and your ovulation schedule are in direct opposition to one another. And then what?”
I was unable to provide a response to that question; yet, I decided to enroll in the class regardless.
In that point in time, we had been married for eight years. For another two years, I was subjected to the treatment of a villain until I finally hit my breaking point.
When I finally signed the divorce papers with shaky hands, I felt like I had lost 10 pounds. Leaving the attorney’s office was like relearning how to breathe for the first time that day.
Now that Chris had returned, he seemed to be ready to continue doing the same thing he had been doing before, which was to humiliate me and make me feel like I had no value.
I was having a hard time regaining my composure when I felt a familiar hand touch my shoulder. It was warm and it helped me feel more grounded.
“Honey, who is this?” My spouse inquired while carrying a bottle of water and a cup of coffee from the adjacent clinic café. I had come to really appreciate the protecting quality that his voice had. His demeanor changed to one of concern as soon as he observed my emotions.
After taking a single glance at him, Chris’s face transformed from one of surprise and amazement to one that seemed to be one of terror.
My present husband, Josh, was six feet three inches tall, built like he was still playing college football, and had the type of calm confidence that comes from never having to prove anything to anybody.
I informed Josh in a calm manner, “This is my ex-husband, Chris,” as I saw my ex’s Adam’s apple bob as he took a deep breath. “We were just catching up.”
I flashed a grin at Chris.
You should know that it is rather amusing that you spotted me here today and thought that I was going to be tested. visit, during the last year of our joke of a marriage, I went to visit a fertility doctor… and it turns out that I’m completely healthy,” I added. “In fact, I thought you were here to get tested since it seems like your swimmers were never in the pool.”
Just like smoke from a rifle that had just been discharged, the words lingered in the air.
A dislodged jaw was his. His visage was stripped of its smugness like water that had been released from a shattered dam.
It’s not possible! The sound of his voice breaking as he stutteringly said, “That’s… that’s not…” “It was definitely you… All of the blame lies with you. Take a look at her! It was his wife’s stomach that he pointed to. “Does that look like my swimmers aren’t in the pool?”
The moment Liza’s palm touched her stomach, her face became as white as snow. She had the appearance of a deer caught in the headlights.
The words “your wife does not appear to agree with you” were mumbled by me. “If I may venture a guess, Chris, those darling kids of yours do not resemble you in any way, shape, or form whatsoever. Do you have a habit of persuading yourself that they are a reflection of their mother?
Obviously, I had touched a nerve. Chris twisted his head to scowl at Liza, and his face became as red as a ripe tomato as he did so.
“Babe,” she said, her voice shaking slightly “Babe.” It is not what you believe it to be. You have my love. I adore you with all my heart.”
I cocked my head to the side and examine each of them as if they were intriguing creatures. “You certainly do. However, it would seem that he is not the father of those children. To tell you the truth, I certainly don’t blame you; it may have been more convenient to just go to a sperm bank, but hey, at least you found a method to silence him about having children.
The lack of sound was painfully loud. My ex-boyfriend seemed to be a little kid who had misplaced his mother in a busy market, which resulted in him losing all of his swaggering confidence.
“The children…” he said subtly. “My kids…”
“Whose kids?” Kindly and softly, I inquired.
During that moment, Liza began to shed tears, the kind of tears that are silent and occur whenever your whole world moves under your feet. The mascara she was wearing streamed down her cheeks in thick, dark streaks.
Even though his voice was hardly heard, he asked her, “How long?” “How long have you been lying to me?”
An employee of the nursing staff opened the door, made a move toward me, and yelled out, “Ma’am? ” at that same time, as if the cosmos had perfect timing. Our team is prepared to perform your first ultrasound.
That was the epitome of irony. During this time, I was on the verge of finally seeing my child, while my ex’s life was falling apart like a house of cards.
My spouse wrapped his arm over my shoulders, and it was a firm, warm, and genuine connection.
We moved together in the direction of that door, leaving them in a quiet that was so dense that it could really shatter glass.
I did not turn around to look back. Would I do that?
“Do you realize what you’ve done?” When I responded, Chris’s mother let out a shrill scream. The paternity tests were performed on him! His children are not any of those youngsters! There is not a single one! And now he is going to divorce that sweetheart! She is eight months pregnant, and he has already kicked her out of the house!
“That sounds difficult,” I observed in a subdued tone as I examined a small yellow sleeper that had ducks hanging on it.
“What’s the go? That was the end of everything! The youngsters were very dear to him!
“Well, if he’d gotten tested years ago instead of blaming me for his problems, he wouldn’t be in this situation, would he?” I responded with a voice as serene as water that is motionless. “Seems to me more like Chris just got a healthy dose of karma.”
He snarled, “You are a cruel person.” “You destroyed an innocent family.”
I ended the call and disabled her phone number. I then sat there in the nursery, surrounded by baby clothing and hope, and smiled till tears streamed down my cheeks. I was surrounded by baby clothes.
I caressed my expanding tummy and felt that familiar flutter of warmth. I was already pregnant.
It’s my little one. It was the kid that I had longed for for many years, and who also happened to be irrefutable evidence that I had never been the issue.
Occasionally, the truth is the most powerful weapon that one can use in their arsenal. There are moments when justice will confront you and speak to you in your own voice.
Moreover, there are instances when the most effective kind of retribution is just leading a life that is so fulfilling that when your past attempts to attack you, it ends up destroying itself first.
