One trembling hand resting on my belly, I hit accept.
The moment I accepted the friend request, the message popped up.
“Did you see the statement?”
I ignored it and went straight to her profile. The first post? April 21st, two years ago. A woman was leaning against a man’s shoulder, a massive diamond ring on her finger, resting on his arm.
The caption read: “Thank you for my birthday gift.”
Even though his face wasn’t visible, I knew instantly. It was Gabriel. The shirt he wore was one I’d brought back for him from a business trip, with detailed embroidery on the collar.
Two years ago, on April 21st, I lost our first child. While I was in a cold operating room, undergoing a D&C, my husband, who claimed to be on a business trip, was celebrating another woman’s birthday.
The irony wasn’t lost on me.
With trembling fingers, I kept scrolling. Her profile was filled with posts showing off luxury items, and, oddly enough, I had the same ones. Except one thing: jasmine perfume.
The pinned post at the top? An ultrasound report. She was pregnant.
I put the phone down and rushed to our laundry basket. I found the shirt Gabriel wore last night. Holding it up to my nose, I caught a faint scent of jasmine. I never wore perfume.
Clearly tired of waiting for me to reply, the woman couldn’t help herself. My phone buzzed relentlessly, a flood of pictures and videos pouring in.
I sat down, cradling my belly, and stared at the betrayal in front of me.
In the photos, she was young and beautiful, her high ponytail full of energy. There were shots of Gabriel rowing a boat with her, having a snowball fight, tucking a maple leaf behind her ear. It was like watching four seasons of a love story, one that didn’t include me.
I inhaled shakily and clicked on a video.
Gabriel called her “Lily” with such tenderness. They were at the beach. She held his hand and asked softly, “Do you love me?”
And Gabriel, my husband of seven years, the father of the child inside me, responded with a love so clear it made my chest ache: “I love you, Lily. More than anyone in this life.”
I replayed that clip over and over, each time feeling my heart shatter a little more. The room was silent except for my own sobs, tears falling relentlessly.
