The Wife He Betrayed

Chapter 2

The restaurant is still speaking around me.

Glasses touch softly. Cutlery meets porcelain. Someone laughs from a table somewhere behind the velvet curtain that separates our section from the rest of the room.

Life continues normally.

It is a strange thing to realize that the moment your world breaks apart, the rest of the world keeps moving as if nothing important has happened.

Victor is saying something about the wine pairing for the next course, but his voice feels distant to me now, as if he is sitting across the room instead of across the table.

I nod at the right moments.

I smile when the waiter looks at me.

My hands remain steady in my lap.

Inside my purse my phone feels heavier than it should.

Victor notices my silence after a while.

"You're very quiet," he says.

"I'm listening."

"You're staring at the candle."

I glance down. The small flame flickers between us.

"Am I?"

"Yes."

Victor studies my face carefully. He has always been observant. That is part of what made him successful long before we ever met.

"Did Eva say something strange?" he asks.

The question is casual.

It lands like a stone in my chest.

"No," I reply.

"What was the picture?"

I lift my glass of water again even though my throat is already tight.

"She had a baby."

Victor's eyebrows rise slightly.

"Eva had a baby?"

"Yes."

"That's unexpected."

"It surprised me too."

"Is she married now?"

"No."

"Does she know who the father is?"

I look at him.

Really look at him.

His expression is calm. Curious in the polite way people are when hearing family news that does not involve them directly.

He has no idea.

Or he is pretending very well.

"I assume she does," I say carefully.

Victor nods once.

"Well. Congratulations to her."

He picks up his fork and begins eating again.

The simple normalcy of the moment feels surreal.

I reach slowly into my purse and take out my phone again.

Victor notices the movement.

"Are you going to respond to her?"

"Yes."

"You should tell her we'll visit once she's settled."

The sentence lands softly on the table between us.

We will visit.

The father sitting across from me offering to visit his own child.

My fingers unlock the screen again.

The photo fills the display immediately.

The baby is wrapped tightly in a hospital blanket. His tiny face is turned slightly to the side. One fist rests beside his cheek.

Dark hair.

Even newborns sometimes resemble their parents in strange ways. The shape of the nose. The curve of the mouth.

But the eyes.

Even closed, they remind me of Victor.

Something in the brow. Something in the quiet expression.

The message sits beneath the image like a confession carved into stone.

I'm sorry. He's Victor's.

My chest rises slowly as I breathe in.

Then out.

Then in again.

Victor speaks while I stare at the phone.

"What did she name him?"

The words come out of him naturally. Light curiosity.

I type a message to Eva.

My fingers move carefully.

When?

The reply arrives almost instantly.

Two minutes pass before the message bubble appears.

Tonight.

I stare at the word.

Tonight.

The baby is only hours old.

Which means the message was not written lightly. She sent it the moment she could.

Victor clears his throat.

"Did she answer?"

"Yes."

"And?"

"She said the baby was born tonight."

Victor nods again.

"Well then. Tell her we'll send flowers."

I look up at him.

"Flowers?"

"Yes. That's what people do when someone has a baby."

His tone is relaxed. Even gentle.

The man sitting across from me has held my hand through three miscarriages.

He sat beside me during every doctor appointment.

He promised me I was not broken.

The baby on my phone is his.

I type again.

How long have you known?

This time the reply takes longer.

Victor sips his champagne while waiting for my response to the conversation.

"What hospital?" he asks.

"Eva didn't say yet."

"You should ask."

"I will."

My phone vibrates again.

The new message appears slowly.

Nine months.

For a moment the room seems to tilt slightly.

Nine months.

Which means she became pregnant while I was still injecting hormones into my stomach every night.

Which means Victor was leaving our apartment in the mornings and telling me everything would work out.

Which means every promise he made during those months already contained a lie.

Victor notices the way I am staring at the phone again.

"Is everything alright?"

I lock the screen and set the phone gently on the table.

"Yes."

"You're sure?"

"Yes."

"You seem distracted."

"I'm tired."

Victor studies me again. His gaze is patient but searching.

"We can leave early if you want."

"No."

"You don't look well."

"I'm fine."

The waiter arrives with another course.

Victor thanks him politely.

I listen to the explanation of the dish without hearing most of it.

My mind is calculating something quietly.

Nine months.

Eva has known for nine months.

Which means she carried the secret through every holiday dinner.

Through every phone call.

Through every visit where she hugged me and asked how the treatments were going.

The waiter leaves again.

Victor begins eating.

"You should try this," he says. "It's excellent."

I pick up my fork.

I do not taste anything.

After a moment Victor puts his fork down.

"Leticia."

"Yes?"

"You're somewhere else tonight."

"I told you I'm tired."

"That's not what this is."

"What do you think it is?"

"I think you're worrying about tomorrow again."

I almost laugh.

Tomorrow.

Victor thinks tomorrow is still the most important thing happening in my life.

"Maybe you're right," I say quietly.

Victor reaches across the table and places his hand over mine.

His palm is warm.

Familiar.

"I know this has been hard," he says.

"We've been through a lot."

"We have."

"But I meant what I said earlier."

"About what?"

"You're not broken."

I look down at our hands.

The same hands that touched another woman.

My sister.

"How can you be so sure?" I ask.

Victor squeezes my fingers gently.

"Because I know you."

"You know me."

"Yes."

"You're very confident about that."

"I married you. Of course I know you."

Something sharp presses against my chest.

"Do you?" I ask softly.

Victor tilts his head slightly.

"That's an odd question."

"Is it?"

"Yes."

"People change," I say.

Victor smiles faintly.

"Not that much."

I nod slowly.

"You're probably right."

The phone vibrates again against the table.

Victor glances down at it.

"Eva again?"

"Yes."

"Tell her congratulations for me."

I unlock the screen one more time.

Another message waits.

I didn't know how to tell you.

My thumbs hover over the keyboard.

You didn't think to tell me before tonight?

A long pause follows.

Victor continues speaking while I wait for the reply.

"After dinner we should take a walk," he says. "The weather is nice."

"That sounds good."

"We haven't done that in a while."

"No. We haven't."

"Maybe we should start doing normal things again."

"What do you mean by normal?"

"Things that don't involve doctors and appointments."

I nod.

"That would be nice."

My phone vibrates again.

Eva's reply appears slowly.

I tried to end it.

The words sit on the screen like something fragile.

I stare at them.

Victor notices the silence again.

"Did she tell you the baby's name?"

I lock the phone.

"No."

"Strange."

"Maybe she's still deciding."

Victor shrugs lightly.

"That happens."

He checks his watch briefly.

"You know," he says, "five years ago tonight we were in a much smaller restaurant."

"Yes."

"And you were wearing that blue dress."

"You hated that dress."

"I didn't hate it."

"You said it looked like a curtain."

Victor laughs.

"It did look like a curtain."

"You're unbelievable."

"You married me anyway."

"Yes. I did."

Victor raises his glass slightly.

"To five years."

I lift my water glass.

Our glasses touch gently.

Crystal against crystal.

For a moment Victor studies my face again.

"You really are quiet tonight."

"I'm thinking."

"About what?"

"Life."

Victor smiles.

"That sounds serious."

"It is."

"What conclusion did you reach?"

I hold his gaze.

"That things change faster than we expect."

Victor nods slowly.

"That's true."

I set my glass down.

Then I pick up my purse.

Victor notices immediately.

"Are you going somewhere?"

"Yes."

"Where?"

"Home."

His forehead creases slightly.

"But we haven't finished dinner."

"I'm not hungry anymore."

"You barely ate."

"I know."

Victor leans forward.

"Leticia, talk to me. What's wrong?"

"Nothing."

"That's not true."

"I'm just tired."

"We can finish quickly."

"I'd rather leave."

Victor watches me stand from the table.

Concern appears clearly in his expression now.

"Did something happen?"

"No."

"Did Eva say something upsetting?"

"No."

"You're shaking."

"I'm not."

"You are."

I look down.

My hands are still perfectly steady.

"I think you're imagining things," I say.

Victor stands as well.

"If you're not feeling well we should call the driver."

"That won't be necessary."

"I don't want you walking alone."

"I'm not walking."

"Then what are you doing?"

"I'm leaving."

Victor stares at me.

"You're not making any sense."

"I will tomorrow."

"Tomorrow?"

"Yes."

"What happens tomorrow?"

I pick up my coat from the back of the chair.

"You'll understand then."

Victor steps closer.

"Leticia. Stop for a second."

I look at him calmly.

"Yes?"

"If something is wrong we can talk about it now."

"We will talk."

"When?"

"Soon."

"That's very vague."

I slip my purse over my shoulder.

"Goodnight, Victor."

He looks genuinely confused now.

"You're not serious."

"I am."

"You're leaving our anniversary dinner."

"Yes."

"Without telling me why."

"Yes."

Victor runs a hand through his hair.

"This is ridiculous."

"Is it?"

"Yes."

"Then tomorrow should be interesting."

He stares at me as if trying to solve a puzzle that suddenly appeared in front of him.

"Leticia."

"Yes."

"Please just explain what's happening."

I meet his eyes.

For the first time tonight I allow a piece of the truth to sit in my gaze.

"You'll find out soon enough," I say quietly.

Then I turn and walk toward the exit of the restaurant.

I do not look back.