The Unforgiving Beloved

The day my husband lifted another woman into his arms, I was lying on the ground, the runway behind me still smoking from the blast. “That pregnant woman looks so pitiful.” The girl in his arms spoke, her voice soft and trembling—so innocent, so kind, so beautiful. Everything I wasn’t. If the man holding her weren’t my husband, I would have liked her too. Just like my husband once liked the woman I used to be.