Chương 4 - Nỗi Lo Âu Của Người Mẹ

“You used my son as a placeholder.”

“No.”

“That is exactly what you .”

“I knew I could switch back.”

“When?”

He shook his head.

“I don’t .”

“When Jenna stopped wanting her own child?”

“, please.”

“When I got attached enough to that you thought I’d agree to keep him?”

His crumpled.

“I don’t .”

The door to the hallway opened.

Jenna stepped the room.

Ethan looked like he had been hit.

“Jenna.”

She stood beside her lawyer.

No makeup.

Hair pulled back.

like the polished woman from the med-spa Instagram.

She looked exhausted.

Angry.

“You told me was with your cousin for two days.”

Ethan’s mouth opened.

“You told me knew our marriage was ending,” I said.

Jenna continued.

“You told me your wife didn’t want three children in the house.”

I stared at him.

That one was new.

Ethan looked between us.

“I was trying to keep everybody calm.”

Jenna laughed through her tears.

“You told me the baby I was holding was mine.”

“I never thought it would go long.”

Her voice rose.

“You watched me nurse him.”

Ethan closed his eyes.

“You watched me take pictures of him.”

“I .”

“I sent you pictures every day.”

“I .”

“And you knew.”

His shoulders folded.

For a moment, he looked smaller than I had ever seen him.

Then his knees hit the rug.

Actually hit it.

He sat back his heels with hands over his .

“Please.”

Nobody moved.

He looked at me .

Then Jenna.

“I screwed up.”

Jenna stared at him.

“You stole six from me.”

He shook his head.

“I didn’t—”

Her attorney put a hand up.

Jenna stopped.

I looked down at Ethan.

A month earlier, seeing him his knees might have felt like justice.

It didn’t.

He was the man.

He had just run out of lies.

“I want a divorce,” I said.

He began crying.

“.”

“I’ve already made my decision.”

“We fix .”

“No.”

“I’ll anything.”

“No.”

“I’ll go to counseling.”

“No.”

“I’ll quit my job. I’ll move. I’ll—”

“You are doing it.”

He looked confused.

“Doing what?”

“Trying to find the right button to push so goes back to normal.”

I shook my head.

“There is no normal to go back to.”

Jenna left before he .

She didn’t say goodbye to me.

I didn’t expect her to.

Ethan stayed the floor for another minute.

Then Maya told him it would be better if all future legal communication went through counsel.

He looked at me one last time.

“ I see the ?”

My heart clenched.

He was their father.

That truth didn’t disappear I hated him.

“You talk to your lawyer.”

His twisted.

“, they’re my sons.”

“And six ago one of was apparently interchangeable with someone ’s.”

He looked down.

He packed a bag that night and went to a hotel.

The next month was ugly.

Not dramatic in the satisfying, movie-ending way.

Ugly in the paperwork way.

Lawyers.

Pediatric appointments.

Police interviews.

Calls from hospital risk-management departments.

Correcting records.

Temporary parenting arrangements.

Therapy referrals.

Insurance questions.

My own attorney refused to predict exactly what authorities would about Ethan’s actions.

“Let investigate,” she told me. “We deal with the family case in front of us.”

For the time being, Ethan agreed through his attorney to supervised visits with and while everything was being sorted out.

I hated sending the .

I also knew they were too young to understand any of and that my anger could not be the only thing making decisions.

That was one of the hardest parts.

Real consequences were slower than rage.

Jenna and I not become best friends.

People seem to expect that when they hear the story.

Two women betrayed by one man.

Instant sisterhood.

No.

I was angry that she had been involved with my husband.

She was ashamed of how much she had believed.

we became something .

Useful to each other.

Honest.

We shared information through our attorneys.

When one of us remembered a date, payment, or message, the other checked it.

Jenna gave her lawyer screenshots of Ethan telling her that our marriage was “over except for paperwork.”

I had anniversary photos from the .

She had messages where he promised he was “handling the baby situation.”

I had records showing the day he took from the hospital.

The lies fit together better than the truth ever had.

One afternoon, about two months after the confrontation, Jenna asked to meet me for coffee.

I almost said no.

Then I went.

She looked nervous.

“I owe you an apology that has to with the babies.”

I waited.

“I knew he was married.”

There it was.

She didn’t soften it.

“He told me you were separated. he was married, and I knew that.”

I wrapped hands around my coffee.

“You .”

“I wanted to believe the version that made me feel less awful.”

I looked at her.

“At least you say that now.”

She nodded.

“I’m not asking you to forgive me.”

“Good.”

A tiny, sad smile crossed her .

“I figured.”

She looked down at the table.

“I keep thinking about how angry I was at you before I ever met you.”

That surprised me.

“Why?”

“ Ethan always talked about you like you had everything.”

I almost laughed.

“He told you that?”

“You had the house. The career. The marriage. The kids.”

Her mouth tightened.

“He made me feel like you were woman standing between him and the life he really wanted.”

I sat back.

“What life he say he wanted?”

“Me. . A new start.”

She looked at me.

“And apparently he was telling you something completely different.”

“He was helping me choose paint colors for the twins’ nursery.”

Jenna closed her eyes.

“God.”

“I don’t think Ethan wanted a new life.”

“What you think he wanted?”

“.”

She looked at me.

“All of it.”

The wife.

The house.

The career.

The girlfriend.

Three sons.

No consequences.

Jenna nodded slowly.

“Yeah.”

That was probably the most honest conversation we ever had.

The financial part of the divorce was easier than I expected Ethan had so much incentive not to drag things out.

My attorney documented the money he had moved Jenna’s business.

Jenna returned what funds she could prove had directly benefited her business once her lawyer sorted out what was hers and what Ethan had paid without my knowledge.

The remaining withdrawals were accounted for in our settlement negotiations.

I kept my retirement accounts.

Ethan kept his.

We sold the house.

The agreement credited a larger share of the remaining equity to me after certain undocumented marital withdrawals were taken account.

He also covered a substantial portion of the legal and professional costs created by untangling what he had done.

It was not revenge money.

It not make me feel better.

Money was simply one of the few things a settlement could measure.

Six of my son’s newborn life wasn’t.

By the time the divorce was final, the twins were nine months old.

I had moved a rental townhouse twenty minutes from my mother.

For the few , Mom stayed over constantly.

Then she started forcing herself to go home.

“You need to you without me sitting your couch every night,” she said.

“I .”

“And I need to stop hovering.”

“That too.”

She narrowed her eyes.

“Don’t get smart.”

I laughed.

It felt unfamiliar at .

Laughing without immediately wondering what Ethan was doing.

I went back to work when the were five months old.

My company gave me a gradual return schedule.

The morning I dropped at daycare, I sat in my car and cried for twenty minutes.

Not I thought anything bad would happen.

handing my children to someone had become complicated.

Trust used to be automatic.

Now it was a task.

I checked names twice.

I checked pickup permissions.

I memorized every teacher’s .

I asked questions I knew sounded excessive.

Nobody complained.

One of the daycare directors finally told me, “You’re allowed to need more information.”

I nearly cried again.

Ethan followed the temporary parenting plan.

At , every exchange made me sick.

Then something unexpected happened.

He stopped arguing.

He stopped sending long messages begging me to reconsider.

He stopped telling me we belonged together.

Maybe his lawyer told him to.

Maybe therapy helped.

Maybe losing control finally forced him to accept that he no longer got to decide what everyone needed.

I didn’t ask.

Our communication moved to a parenting app.

Pickup.

Drop-off.

Pediatrician.

Diapers.

Fevers.

.

Once, when the were seven months old, Ethan wrote:

I you don’t want to hear , I am sorry.

I stared at the message.

Then I replied:

has a pediatric appointment Thursday at 2:30. Please confirm whether you’re attending.

He confirmed.

That was enough.

Jenna eventually moved a condo closer to her mother, who relocated from Tampa for a while to help with .

She sold part of her med-spa business to her partner.

Not I demanded it.

, according to her, she couldn’t keep working sixty-hour and pretending had happened.

The last time I saw her in person before the twins’ birthday, she brought to the pediatric practice for a checkup.

The three ended up in the waiting room together.

For a second, nobody knew what to .

Then saw .

He smiled.

Maybe coincidence.

Probably coincidence.

They were babies.

Jenna and I laughed anyway.

She looked healthier.

Tired, healthier.

“So,” she said, “how are they?”

“Loud.”

“.”

“ throws food now.”

“ throws spoons.”

“ throws everything.”

She smiled.

Then her got serious.

“?”

“Yeah?”

“I’m glad you tested .”

I looked at the three .

“So am I.”

There wasn’t anything to say.

The twins turned one a Saturday.

My mother insisted throwing a party.

Not huge.

Just family, a few friends, balloons, burgers, two small smash cakes.

She bought cakes from the bakery.

size.

frosting.

One had written across the top.

The other had .

I noticed.

Of course I noticed.

My mother caught me looking.

“What?”

“.”

“You’re doing the thing.”

“What thing?”

“The where you say definitely mean something.”

I smiled.

“They match.”

She looked at the cakes.

“Obviously.”

I kissed her cheek.

She pretended not to understand why that mattered.

The sat in their high chairs wearing ridiculous little paper crowns.

immediately tried to eat his.

pulled his off and threw it at my cousin.

Everyone laughed.

When we put the cakes in front of , carefully poked one finger the frosting.

slapped hands straight down.

Blue icing flew everywhere.