After losing my baby, I found out my husband was my sister’s future baby’s father — karma surfaced for them not long after.

Editoron

My husband, Mason, was supposed to be my rock through it all. For the first week, he was. He held me while I cried. He made me tea I didn’t drink. God, he said all the right things about how we’d try again and how we’d get through this together.

Then, slowly, he started pulling away.

“I’ve got a business trip to Greenfield,” he said once, throwing clothes into a suitcase.

“Another one? You just got back two days ago.”

“It’s the Henderson account, babe. You know how important this is.”

I did know. Or at least, I thought I did. Mason worked in commercial real estate, and the Henderson account was supposedly his golden ticket to partnership. So I smiled and kissed him goodbye and spent another three nights alone in our bed, staring at the ceiling, wondering why grief felt so much heavier when you carried it by yourself.

« Previous Next »