Chapter 4: The Mistress Moves In

I didn’t leave the bedroom for the rest of the day.

Clara called six times. I let it go to voicemail. What would I even say? That my husband's college girlfriend was living down the hall? That I was pregnant with a baby he called “bad timing”?

The words wouldn’t come. Nothing would come except the hollow ache spreading through my chest.

Around seven PM, my stomach cramped. Sharp enough to make me gasp. I curled up on the bed, one hand pressed to my abdomen, the other gripping the sheets.

Please. Please don’t let anything be wrong.

The cramp faded. Then came back. Stronger this time.

I forced myself to breathe slowly. In through my nose. Out through my mouth. The doctor had warned me. Stress could cause complications. Stress could hurt the baby.

But how was I supposed to not be stressed when my entire world was collapsing?

Another cramp. This one sent me stumbling to the bathroom, dizzy and nauseated. I made it to the toilet just in time.

When I finally looked up, my reflection in the mirror was a stranger. Pale. Hollow-eyed. Hair a mess. Yesterday’s dress wrinkled beyond recognition.

There I was, looking as though I were falling to pieces.

Because I really was, coming apart at the seams.

Painful contractions had mostly subsided by the time I heard voices downstairs. Time for dinner. The family always dined together. Margaret always had to push the matter—she said it set the right standards.

I should stay here. Hide. Never confront whatever fresh hell awaited me down there.

But I was so tired of hiding.

I changed into clean clothes, something simple. I brushed my hair. I put on just enough makeup to carry me less like a walking shadow. Then I walked down the stairs, one hand gliding on the trailing for support.

The dining room doors were open. I could hear the voices even before I saw them.

"...simply divine, Margaret. You must give me the name of your decorator."

Vivian's voice. Bright. Cheerful. As if she belonged here.

I stepped into the doorway, and the conversation came to a halt.

They were all there. Margaret was there at the head of the table, regal as a queen. Adrian was to her right, in his work clothes, tie loosened. Vivian was to her left, wearing a cream-colored gown that probably was worth more than my car. And at the other end, sitting in a little chair, was a little girl with dark curls and Adrian's eyes—in the process of coloring a book.

Emma.

The husband’s daughter, with another woman, was sitting at the table where I ought to have been.

“Serena.” Margaret’s voice could have stopped a river. “How kind of you to join us.”

I started to walk towards my seat. The one beside Adrian, opposite Vivian, who was now seated as if it had always been hers.

“I didn’t realize we were having company for dinner,” I said softly, slipping into the chair.

“Vivian is family,” Margaret said to the staff, signaling for the food to be served, “Not company.”

Family. She'd known Vivian three days... And already she was family! I'd been married to her son for three years, and she was still mocking me for how I hold my fork!

“Serena, darling.” Vivian smiled a sickening smile. “You look exhausted. Are you feeling alright?”

That distraction was enough to turn all eyes on me. Adrian’s jaw contracted, almost imperceptibly.

“Oh, I'm fine,” I lied.

“Are you sure? You’ve been in your room all day. We were starting to worry.”

We. Like she had any right to worry about me. Like she hadn’t just blown up my entire life.

The staff brought forth the first course. Some sort of soup. The smell was rich and creamy, and my stomach twisted. I pushed the bowl away ever so slightly, trying to be discreet.

Margaret caught her cold stare upon me. "Not hungry? You've been looking rather thin lately. I just hope you're not indulging in something foolish, like all those ridiculous diets."

"I'm just not feeling well."

"Then you should see a doctor," Vivian advised, dabbing at her mouth with her napkin. "Self-care is important, especially at your age. Stress can really do terrible things to a woman's body."

At your age, I wondered. I was twenty-eight years old. She couldn't have been more than thirty.

"I've already seen a doctor," I heard myself say before I could stop.

Adrian's head shot up. His eyes locked on mine, sharp with warning: don't.

But I was tired; I was so tired of being silent. I was so tired of swallowing down everything. I was tired of pretending.

"Actually," I pushed on, my voice much steadier than I actually felt, "I have some news."

Everything stopped, even Emma putting down her crayons to look up with curious eyes.

"Serena." Adrian's voice was soft but dangerous. "Not now."

"When, then?" I looked at him. I actually looked at him. "When would be a good time, Adrian? After you move Vivian into the master bedroom? After you erase every trace of me from this house? When?"

"What is she talking about?" Margaret demanded.

I turned to them-all of them, actually-and pulled out the sonogram from my pocket. Carrying it all day had been like carrying a secret. A burden. A hope.

Now, it just was the truth.

"I'm pregnant."

Silence.

Complete, total silence.

Margaret's soup spoon clattered into her bowl. Vivian's face went gray while the perfect composure cracking. Adrian closed his eyes as if I had detonated a bomb in the middle of dinner.

Maybe I had.

"You're...what?" Margaret was the first to find voice, though it was strangled.

"Pregnant. Eight weeks." I placed the sonogram on the table, the black-and-white image facing up. "I found out two weeks ago. I was going to tell everyone at our anniversary dinner, but..." I gestured vaguely at Vivian. "Well."

Margaret grabbed the sonogram and held it close to her face as if she refused to believe it. Like it was fake. Her mouth opened and closed several times before she could speak.

"This is... you mean... I mean, are you sure?"

"Yes."

"Confirmed by doctor?"

"Yes."

She looked at Adrian. "Did you know about this?"

"I told him this morning," I answered for him. "Right before his board meeting. Right after I found out his mistress was moving into our home."

“She’s not my mistress,” Adrian said through clenched teeth.

“Then what is she?”

No one cared to answer. Vivian stared at the sonogram as if it were some snake that may bite her. Her knuckles glistened white while clutching the napkin.

“Well.” Margaret laid the sonogram down gently and displayed an expressionless face. “This is certainly… unlike the arrangement one might expect.”

“Unexpected,” I said. “One way to describe it.”

“Mommy?” Emma's small voice pierced through the tension. She was staring at Vivian, eyes full of confusion. “What's wrong?”

That very moment, Vivian's face immediately softened, and maternal concern took over. “Nothing, sweetheart. Everything is fine. Why don't you go upstairs with the nanny so she can prepare you for bed?”

“But I want to finish my picture.”

“You can do that tomorrow. Now go.”

From nowhere appeared a nanny-well, at least I'd never seen her before-who then ushered Emma out of the room. The little girl went reluctantly, glancing back over her shoulder.

Once she was out of sight and out of earshot, Vivian turned toward me, with the sweetness gone-faced with something cold and calculating.

“How convenient,” she said in a whisper.

“Pardon me?”

“This pregnancy. How terribly convenient that you'd suddenly be pregnant just as I am coming back into Adrian's life!”

The implication felt like someone having hit me with a blow. “You think I'm lying?”

"The timing, I find, very suspicious."

"I have a medical record. Doctor's appointments. Blood tests." My voice rose and I could not retain it. "For one year I have been attempting to conceive whilst my husband was supposedly sleeping with you; so forgive me if I won't apologize for actually succeeding and getting pregnant."

The door slammed shut behind Adrian, who stood up abruptly. "Enough, both of you."

"Don't you dare tell me what's enough," I said through bitter tears. "You invited this woman into our home; you humiliated me on television; you have a daughter you never told me about. And when I finally tell you I'm pregnant, you call it bad timing. So no Adrian, nothing is enough, nothing will ever be enough to make up for what you've done."

Margaret's hand struck the table, causing the utensils to rattle. "That is quite enough, Serena. You will not speak to my son that way under this roof."

"This is my house too," I said.

"Is it?" Ice trickled into Margaret's eyes. "Because it seems to me you've been nothing but a burden on this family. After three years of marriage, you're only now saying you're pregnant? Only now, that our real family has come back?"

Real family. Words like knives.

"She's manipulating you," Vivian added with false sympathy. "Can't you see? She's aware she's losing him. She's aware that it's Emma and I that Adrian truly wants. So suddenly she's pregnant; suddenly there's a baby that will tie him to her."

"I'm not manipulating anyone." My hands were trembling. Everything was trembling. "I'm telling the truth."

"Are you?" Vivian leaned in, the look in her eyes razor sharp. "Because it seems awfully convenient that you'd finally conceive right now. Unless..." She paused, letting the charge hang in the air. "Unless it's not his at all."

The room exploded.