After I gave birth to triplets, my husband called me a “scarecrow” and started cheating on me with his secretary. He thought I was too broken to fight back. He was mistaken.
What happened next made him pay a price he never thought he would have to pay and turned me into someone he would never know. I thought I had found my partner for life. The kind of guy that made life easier, lit up every room he walked into, and promised to give me everything.
Kael was like that and more. We built a home together over the course of eight years. Five of those times, they were married.
And for what felt like forever, we fought infertility, month after month of failure, until I finally got pregnant with triplets. Seeing three babies on that ultrasound screen felt like a miracle. As the doctor told me the news, her face showed both happiness and worry, and I understood right away as my body started to change.
This wasn’t just being pregnant. From the beginning, this was just about staying alive. My ankles swelled up like grapefruits.
For weeks, I couldn’t eat anything. By the fifth month, I was compelled to remain confined to bed, observing my body transform into an unfamiliar form. I didn’t think my skin could be any tighter.
My reflection in the mirror became a strange face—swollen, worn out, and just hanging there. But every kick, every move, and every sleepless night made me understand why it was happening. When Cove, Briar, and Arden finally arrived, small and perfect and crying, I held them and thought, “This is it.” This is what love is.
At first, Kael was pleased. He posted pictures online, got plaudits at work, and enjoyed being a triplet dad. People praised him for being a sturdy rock and a loyal husband.
While I was in the hospital bed, stitched up and swollen, I felt like a vehicle had hit me and put me back together badly. He’d replied, “You were great, honey,” and held my hand. “You are wonderful.”
I believed him.
Lord, I believed every word. Three weeks after I got out, I was going down. That’s the only word for it.
Drowning in diapers, bottles, and cries that never stop. My body was still healing, sore, and bleeding. I wore the same two pairs of baggy sweatpants since nothing else worked.
My hair lingered in a continual untidy knot since washing meant time I lacked. I had lost track of how productive my sleep was. That morning, I sat on the couch and fed Cove as Briar slept next to me in her cradle.
After 40 minutes of incessant howling, Arden calmed down. There was spit-up on my top. My eyes hurt because I was worn out.
When Kael came in, I was trying to remember if I had eaten that day. He was dressed for work in a fine blue suit and smelled like that expensive cologne I used to love. He stopped at the door, looked me over from head to toe, and his nose twitched a little.
“You look like a scarecrow.”
The phrase stayed with us. I thought I had heard wrong for a second. “Excuse me?”
He shrugged and took a sip of his coffee, as if to say, “I see.” “I mean, you’ve really gone down.
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