I thought the news would bring us closer.
Instead, he stared at the test as though I had handed him a weapon.
“You’re pregnant?”
“Yes.”
“How?”
I remember laughing nervously.
“How do you think?”
He didn’t laugh.
He asked when I had supposedly become pregnant.
I told him.
He counted the weeks.
Then looked at me.
“This isn’t possible.”
My heart sank.
“What do you mean?”
“You were away visiting your sister.”
“For four days.”
He shook his head.
“You’re lying.”
I couldn’t believe what I was hearing.
“I am your wife.”
“That doesn’t answer my question.”
Then came the words that stayed with me for eight years.
“I don’t believe this pregnancy is mine.”
I begged him to wait.
To see the doctor.
To take a test.
He refused.
Within weeks, he had moved out.
His family believed him.
His friends believed him.
