There was absolute silence in the courtyard.
“This isn't a reveal of the baby's sex,” I said calmly. “It's a reveal of the truth.”
I pointed to Blake. “My husband cheated on me while I was pregnant.”
Then to Harper. “With my sister.”
Gasps. Whispers. Blake's face went blank. Harper began to cry.
“If anyone wants proof,” I said, “it’s in the envelope inside the box.”
I didn't wait for an apology. I grabbed my bag, closed the door, and drove to my mother's house.
Blake sent a text message. Harper sent a text message.
Think about the child.
I once replied, “Yes, that’s why we broke up.”
The following week I filed for divorce.
Do I regret doing this publicly?
I regret folding the baby's clothes while my husband texted my sister.
I regret thinking that love makes people good.
I regret trusting someone who knew how to lie while he was caressing my belly.
But what about balloons?
NO.
They told the truth: clearly, publicly, and without allowing anyone to minimize it.
For the first time in my life, I didn't take betrayal lightly.
I echoed him.
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