My husband, Ethan, had 99 affairs in our ten years of marriage, and I knew about every single one. His promise to have a child only with me was the silent agreement, the sole thread holding our lavish life together. But when the 100th mistress, a barista named Molly Chavez, turned up pregnant, everything changed. On our tenth anniversary, instead of a celebration, I found Ethan pleading with Molly in a parking lot, a blank check in his hand, as her baby bump was subtly visible. Molly, with a smirk for me, tore the check, declaring, "I don't want your money, Ethan. I want you to leave me alone. The baby is my responsibility, and you are free." He looked at her as if she'd hung the moon, completely captivated, while I, his wife, stood forgotten. Then, Ethan came home, promising to finally start the family we' d always discussed, urging IVF immediately. Hope, a stupid, stubborn thing, made me agree despite every red flag. But as I drifted under anesthesia for egg retrieval, I heard his voice, cold and smug: "Once Elyse is pregnant, Molly will have no choice but to move in. This secures everything." That stupid, stubborn hope died right there, a silent death. What had I truly married, and what twisted game was he playing with my body, my future, and my heart? I knew then: my time of tolerance was over.
My husband, Ethan, had 99 affairs in our ten years of marriage, and I knew about every single one.
His promise to have a child only with me was the silent agreement, the sole thread holding our lavish life together.
But when the 100th mistress, a barista named Molly Chavez, turned up pregnant, everything changed.
On our tenth anniversary, instead of a celebration, I found Ethan pleading with Molly in a parking lot, a blank check in his hand, as her baby bump was subtly visible.
Molly, with a smirk for me, tore the check, declaring, "I don't want your money, Ethan. I want you to leave me alone. The baby is my responsibility, and you are free."
He looked at her as if she'd hung the moon, completely captivated, while I, his wife, stood forgotten.
Then, Ethan came home, promising to finally start the family we' d always discussed, urging IVF immediately.
Hope, a stupid, stubborn thing, made me agree despite every red flag.
But as I drifted under anesthesia for egg retrieval, I heard his voice, cold and smug: "Once Elyse is pregnant, Molly will have no choice but to move in. This secures everything."
That stupid, stubborn hope died right there, a silent death.
What had I truly married, and what twisted game was he playing with my body, my future, and my heart?
I knew then: my time of tolerance was over.
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