We met my husband on social media about five years ago. I fell in love with him instantly. It was impossible not to fall for him; he has such an amazing sense of humor that any stand-up comedian would envy. Alex is twelve years older than me. He had lived with a girlfriend for a long time, but they never officially registered their relationship.
By the time we met, Alex had already “sown his wild oats” and was ready for family life. He really wanted children, especially a son. After a couple of months of talking, we moved in together into Alex’s apartment, which he had inherited from his grandmother. About a year and a half later, we got married and immediately started thinking about having children. We tried for a whole year to conceive, but nothing worked. According to the tests, we were completely healthy. My doctor reassured me, saying that a year is not a long time and that it happens with couples.
Then, in the midst of the pandemic about a year ago, I found out I was pregnant. I had wanted a child so badly, but the whole virus situation terrified me. At first, I was even afraid to leave the house, and when I did, I never took off my gloves and mask-respirator. All the groceries Alex brought home from the store, I wiped down with an alcohol solution. Alex was somehow calmer, but he started having serious business problems—clients delayed payments, and many canceled his services altogether.
Before the pregnancy, Alex was the main breadwinner in the family. I earned money through network marketing, selling household products and cosmetics from a well-known company to friends and acquaintances. I had been doing this for a long time, so I had a large client base, but during the pandemic, my income dropped sharply. Many of my friends lost their jobs, and cosmetics were the last thing on their minds.
There was a period when Alex had no money at all, and I paid for groceries, gas, utilities, and other expenses. I decided for myself that it was temporary: the virus would soon be out of our lives, and our financial situation would return to normal.
When my husband asked to borrow ten thousand dollars, I gave it to him, of course. I’ll explain why it was a loan. In our family, we kept separate budgets. When we started living together, Alex earned three or four times more than I did. So, he paid for utilities, major household purchases, joint vacations, and most of the groceries. I mainly covered the home internet, TV, and bought sweets or fruits, spending the rest of my money on personal needs. If Alex borrowed money from me for some reason in the past, he always paid me back, even though I never asked or reminded him. At first, this felt strange to me because my parents had a joint budget.
I asked my husband what he wanted to buy, and he said he needed to fix something in the car. I don’t know much about cars, so I didn’t press for details. About a month later, while doing laundry, I found a receipt in the pocket of his hoodie from a lingerie store for about nine thousand five hundred dollars.
I immediately sensed something was off. First, that store doesn’t sell maternity lingerie, and I was already five months pregnant with a round belly. Second, the purchase date was the exact day he borrowed money from me. But these were all circumstantial clues; I wanted to know the truth.
My husband came home from work in the evening and went to the bathroom to wash his hands, leaving his phone on the hall table, screen down. I tried to unlock it, but the password I used to know no longer worked.
When he came out of the bathroom, I asked him:
— Alex, can I use your phone to call a client? She ordered three thousand dollars’ worth of cosmetics without prepayment, and now she’s not picking up my calls. Can I use it?
— Sure, take it. I’ll unlock it for you.
— No need, I know your password.
— I changed it. I got a notification to update it for data security. Here, take the phone; I’ve unlocked it with my fingerprint.
At that moment, I was ready to throw the phone at him and slap him across the face, but I held back. If I had told him I knew everything, I would have heard a bunch of excuses, and I might have even believed him.
Alex handed me the phone and followed me, as if he was afraid I’d start snooping through it.
I called the client, talked to her, and gave him back his phone. Under the pretense of wanting to visit her, I left the house and drove around the city. I didn’t want to go home. I felt awful, but I tried to calm myself for the sake of my baby.
I came home very late. My husband was almost asleep and asked why I was out so long and where I’d been. I curtly replied that I got caught up in conversation. I waited until he fell asleep and tried to unlock his phone using his fingerprint. It took me several tries; I struggled for a long time. When I finally opened his phone, I found nothing—no messages, no chats, no photos. He had probably deleted everything after I gave the phone back. It took me a while to find the trash folder on his phone; mine is different, and on his Samsung, it was buried somewhere.
Eventually, I found the trash folder. It contained lots of work-related photos and the one I was looking for—a girl in lingerie. I sent the photo to my phone and deleted the outgoing message from his. I didn’t stop there; I found the store’s website listed on the receipt. The lingerie set the woman was wearing was indeed from that store. I printed the photo of the girl on a black-and-white printer, attached the receipt to it, packed some essentials, placed the photo and receipt next to my sleeping husband, and left to stay at my sister’s place.
The next morning, my phone was blowing up. My husband said I had misunderstood everything, that the girl was a friend of his friend. The friend had asked him to buy her a gift because he was away on a business trip. The photo was just something he sent to show off the friend’s girlfriend. I know all his friends well, so I didn’t believe him.
I couldn’t forgive him, even for the sake of our daughter. I moved to live with my parents in another city. I gave birth to a healthy girl on time. After lengthy court proceedings, Alex and I were finally divorced. Now, I live for my little princess. My ex-husband still tries to reconcile, but he won’t admit to the affair.
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