Ava and I exchanged a look because Tess was born on the 4th of July, and I was Olivia. What a coincidence.
After that, she went on to talk about her birth story, which was about six months later. I kept looking at all the different colors of paint in front of me.
“But Malcolm missed it! Can you imagine?” she said to the group. “He was there for his niece’s birth but not our son’s! He said he was babysitting his niece, Tess, and couldn’t leave.”
“What are the odds?” Ava whispered to me.
“Wait, your boyfriend’s name is Malcolm?” I asked.
The woman nodded.
“And this is him?”
I showed her my phone’s screensaver — a photo of Malcolm, Tess, and myself, just waiting for the baby girl to be added.
She nodded again, looking at me with a blank expression.
“Your husband?” she muttered. “But he’s the father of my child, too.”
My heart sank, and the room spun as I tried to process what she said. The pottery party, a room full of women sharing stories, became a surreal nightmare.
The room seemed to close in around me as her confirmation echoed in my ears. My husband had not only cheated on me but had also fathered a child with this woman.
“Water, please,” I told Ava, who jumped up to get it.
The truth hit me like a ton of bricks. The other women exchanged sympathetic glances, realizing the depth of the emotional turmoil I was experiencing.
Feeling overwhelmed, I excused myself from the gathering and left, tears streaming down my face. I stood in the bathroom and tried to get my bearings.
ADVERTISEMENT
