Ten years together. Seven years of marriage. And our baby was almost due.
Back then, I truly couldn't let go.
So I gritted my teeth, forgave her, and chose to believe her one more time.
And then what happened?
Less than a month later.
She'd gone into early labor. She'd just been told the baby had died inside her. She needed to stay in the hospital to recover more than anything.
But all it took was one text from Humphrey saying "my stomach hurts," and she walked out without a second thought.
I broke down completely. Like a man possessed, I snatched up the fruit knife from the bedside table, my voice raw and shredded.
"Ida, are you really choosing him? If you walk out that door, we're done. For good."
Ida's face twisted, and she looked at me the way someone looks at a lunatic.
"Roland, stop this. I have a family doctor at home, and the doctors already said everything's fine."
"Humphrey just got back to the country. He doesn't have anyone here, and his health has always been fragile. I have to go. Don't make this harder than it needs to be."
She turned and left without looking back. All she gave me was the rigid line of her retreating shoulders.