My lover deserted me for the person I trusted the most—my own mother—and I believed the sorrow would shatter me.
He thought he could betray me and go away without facing the consequences.
What he didn’t realize was that I had no intention of letting him get away with it.
They say that no relationship is perfect, and I used to feel that Travis and I were no exception. Sure, we argued sometimes.
Travis could be distant, condescending, and had the unfortunate habit of making everything about himself. But I believed we had love.
He used to bring me coffee in bed, exactly like I liked it, with a splash of oat milk and two sugars.
He’d leave little sticky notes on the fridge with phrases like “You got this” or “Smile, today’s yours.”
And sometimes, as we lay in bed, he’d play a song on his phone and murmur, “This one reminds me of you.”
I convinced myself that love was about keeping on despite flaws.
We’d been living together for about a year.
I truly believed we were creating something substantial, something real.
My mother, Linda, visited frequently. She constantly said she only wanted to help.
She’d bring homemade chicken soup, fold our laundry when I hadn’t finished it, and give me advise on topics I’d never asked for, like how to design the living room or cook rice without sticking.
I appreciated it, really. At least, I used to.
I even felt lucky to have a mom who cared enough to be around.
Until that one awful afternoon. I left work early. My head was pounding, and all I wanted was to lie down in the quiet and rest before making dinner.
But as soon as I stepped inside, I heard soft music playing in the living room, and voices—low, familiar voices.
I thought maybe Travis was watching TV.
Then I walked in and saw him. Travis was kissing my mother. His hands rested on her waist.
She was smiling. And my world broke in half.
“What the hell is going on?!” I shouted. My voice cracked.
I had never heard myself that loud. My chest was tight. My hands were shaking.
Travis sighed.
He looked annoyed. Not guilty. Not sorry.
“Rachel, I didn’t want you to find out like this.”
He didn’t move. He didn’t even step back. He just stood there like this wasn’t a big deal.
Linda crossed her arms.
She tilted her head like I was a child throwing a fit. “You always make everything a crisis,” she said. “We were going to tell you.”
My mouth dropped open.
I felt heat rise to my face. “You were going to what, exactly? Sit me down like it’s some family meeting and say, ‘Surprise, we’re a couple now’?
You’re my mother!”
I stepped toward them. My voice shook. “How could you do this to me?”
Linda did not flinch.
Her voice remained frigid. “Travis deserves someone who will listen to him.” Someone who isn’t always fatigued or complaining. Perhaps if you had been more of a lady, this would not have occurred.”
I stared at her.
I couldn’t believe what I heard.
Travis spoke next. “You have not been easy to live with, Rachel. You shut down whenever we had a serious talk.
Linda “gets” me.
It felt like a hit in the gut. I stared at him as though he were a stranger. I snatched his coat off the chair and hurled it at him.
“Get out.” “Both of you.”
They did not argue. They walked past me as if I were nothing. I did not cry.
I could not. I just stood there, transfixed, in the center of the room, surrounded by quiet.
The nausea began two days later. At first, I blamed it on the stress, shock, and anguish of watching my own mother leave with the guy I loved.
My stomach had been in knots since that afternoon, so throwing up didn’t seem strange.
But when I got sick for the third time that morning, something inside me whispered that this was more than just heartbreak.
I purchased two pregnancy tests and took them as soon as I arrived home.
Both displayed two lines.
I stared at them, hoping I was mistaken. I went back to buy four more. It felt stupid, but I wanted to be certain.
I returned home and sat on the cold bathroom floor, surrounded by six exams.
Everyone said the same thing.
I was pregnant. With Travis’ child. This is the same man that kissed my mother.
The same man who left me as if I didn’t matter.
I waited three more days to call him. I looked at my phone for a long time. My hands felt heavy.
My heart pounded quickly. When he picked up, I didn’t waste time.
“I’m pregnant,” I explained.
There was silence on the other end. He eventually spoke.
“Are you sure?”
“Six tests,” I said. “They all say the same thing.”
He didn’t say much after that. Just told me he was coming over.
I didn’t tell him not to.
That evening, he showed up at my door. He held a small paper bag. His face looked tired.
He had that same blank expression he wore the year he forgot my birthday.
“I brought some stuff,” he said. He put the bag on the counter. “Crackers, ginger tea.
I looked up what helps.”
I didn’t move. I crossed my arms. “You think snacks fix betrayal?”
He looked at me like I was being unfair.
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