The Affair, The Baby, The Betrayal

The Affair, The Baby, The Betrayal

Zitella Shepp

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My flight from Geneva was long, fueled by the anticipation of seeing Ethan and picking up our lives. My surgical fellowship was finally complete. But as I cleared customs, a text from an unknown number shattered my world: "Ava, don't go to Cedar View Birthing Center. Ethan is there with Chloe. The baby has arrived." Chloe. His high school friend, the one he always said he owed a life debt. Then, another text: "Eleanor and Richard hired them. They said to keep you from 'causing a scene'." His parents, who once called me the daughter they never had, were complicit. My hands went cold. I went to our house, where the nursery light glowed softly. The air was thick with baby powder and Chloe's cloying perfume. Ethan was there, holding the baby, Chloe beside him, his parents beaming. His mother's voice was icy: "Your career kept you busy, Ava. Ethan needed a family." Then Ethan, my husband, looked at me, offering a grotesque explanation. "Chloe is terminally ill. This was her dying wish. And after your... difficulties... this could be painless motherhood for you." Painless. He called my infertility a "difficulty" and expected me to accept this child of an affair? They wanted me to cooperate, to become the silent accomplice in my own humiliation and erasure. "Okay," I said, seeing the relief on their faces. They had no idea the ice in my eyes, or the secret plan that had just clicked into place.

Introduction

My flight from Geneva was long, fueled by the anticipation of seeing Ethan and picking up our lives. My surgical fellowship was finally complete.

But as I cleared customs, a text from an unknown number shattered my world: "Ava, don't go to Cedar View Birthing Center. Ethan is there with Chloe. The baby has arrived."

Chloe. His high school friend, the one he always said he owed a life debt. Then, another text: "Eleanor and Richard hired them. They said to keep you from 'causing a scene'."

His parents, who once called me the daughter they never had, were complicit. My hands went cold.

I went to our house, where the nursery light glowed softly. The air was thick with baby powder and Chloe's cloying perfume.

Ethan was there, holding the baby, Chloe beside him, his parents beaming. His mother's voice was icy: "Your career kept you busy, Ava. Ethan needed a family."

Then Ethan, my husband, looked at me, offering a grotesque explanation. "Chloe is terminally ill. This was her dying wish. And after your... difficulties... this could be painless motherhood for you."

Painless. He called my infertility a "difficulty" and expected me to accept this child of an affair?

They wanted me to cooperate, to become the silent accomplice in my own humiliation and erasure.

"Okay," I said, seeing the relief on their faces. They had no idea the ice in my eyes, or the secret plan that had just clicked into place.

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