Chapter 4: The Weight of Appearances

Because of this relationship, not only did I not dare to divorce Emily, I had to play the role of devoted husband in front of her and her family.

We did all the expected pregnancy things—birthing classes, stroller shopping, arguing over baby names. I played along, rubbing her feet as we watched reruns of Friends, making her ginger tea when her nausea was bad. I’d even post pictures at the Logan Square farmer’s market, #dadlife, just to keep up the image.

For example, just now, I’d finished rubbing her swollen feet, and she asked me to listen to the baby’s heartbeat.

She beamed at me, pressing my hand to her belly, eyes sparkling with hope. I forced a smile, fighting back a wave of guilt and confusion, not disgust. I tried to focus on the soft thumps, the whooshing the doctor said was normal, but my mind wandered.

I barely recognized the girl I married. Guilt twisted in my chest, but I pushed it down. I remembered meeting Emily in college—the campus beauty, the girl everyone noticed. Now, she seemed like someone else: tired, swollen, worn out by pregnancy. I hated myself for thinking it, but I couldn’t stop.

Sometimes I’d catch my reflection beside her and wonder when we both started to drift apart. It felt like we’d let go of each other long before the baby ever showed up.

What’s worse, before bed, she’d sometimes ask, “Honey, I haven’t let you touch me for so long. Are you uncomfortable?”

She’d bite her lip, voice small and uncertain, waiting for me to confess to something.

Every time, I’d swallow my irritation and force a gentle answer. I’d say, “For the baby’s health, what’s a little discomfort?”

I played the martyr, pretending my restraint was noble. She’d kiss me and soon be asleep, snoring softly, her hand on her belly. I’d lie awake, feeling lonelier than ever.

In the past, when she started snoring, I’d put on headphones and lose myself in podcasts or jazz, anything to drown out the reality of our marriage.

But tonight, as soon as she drifted off, I reached for my phone and texted Madison, the screen’s glow lighting up the darkness.

[Who was the guy who picked you up after work today?]