The Truth (8 page)

I should have
seen it before. I guess I always suspected it somewhere in the deep, dark parts of my brain. Sometimes, you can know something with your head, but your heart just doesn’t want to believe it, so instead, you push it away and pretend it isn’t so.

Grant never forgets his phone. In fact, his phone never leaves his side. I always thought it was for business reasons, but now, I frantically search through Grant’s phone like it holds the answers to my future. The air in this house is suffocating me as I scroll through his phone. Why is it, when you are doing something that, on some level, you know you shouldn’t be doing, silence is so loud? My nerves are on high alert like someone committing a crime, and I’m only going through my husband’s phone. I know it’s not a cardinal sin, but it still feels wrong going through his personal property. The quiet is deafening and causing my ears to ring.

Women, so many women are in his phone. He has messages from today from several women. Each message is innocent and yet not. There is nothing sexual said, but it is very clear these are not business colleagues. All the messages, incoming and outgoing, prior to today, have been deleted. I feel like I’m going to be violently ill. When I get to the end of the messages, I sit in the horrifically loud silence for a minute thinking, and then I frantically search for his discarded messages.

Again, everything has been scrubbed out, all but one from Steph Jones. Steph Jones? He has her in his phone as Steph, not Stephanie. He calls her by her shortened name. They know each other outside of business. I am terrified to click on the image icon, but I have to know. I’ve been blind for too long. I hover for a moment and then tap the message. It’s even worse than I imagined. Whoever this broad is, she has taken the time to make a collage of her breasts and vagina surrounding a picture of her blowing a kiss. The images on the screen rape my brain. When you see something like that, it can never be unseen.

Slumping back into my seat, I calmly place the phone on the table and just sit there for about thirty seconds until the tears come. The tears make me angry. I trusted him. I loved him...

My mind runs through every single time I should have suspected something and didn’t. The business trips when he would talk in a hushed tone or wouldn’t bother answering his phone at all. I just assumed Mr. Big Wig was busy. All the times he’s taken his phone into the bathroom when he showers. Who does that? I assumed he played games while he was on the shitter. The odd looks on the faces of women at his work functions I was unable to decipher. Oh, my God! The panties in Vegas. He was with someone in Vegas.

The thoughts, the speculations are more than my stomach can handle. Running full speed, I make it to the powder room just in time to evict the wine from my stomach. I cry and throw up and cry some more. What a sight I must be puking in my red nighty. I sink down on the cold marble floor. My body is still shaking from being sick as I lean back against the wall behind me. I am a fool. How could I not have seen the writing on the wall? I stew for only a moment and then it hits me. What else is Grant hiding?

I hop up and go into the kitchen to turn off the stove. I throw the pans full of food in the sink and go blow out every single candle. There is so much smoke from extinguishing the candles, it looks like the house is on fire. The smoke breaks away as I steam ahead right through the thick of it on a mission. I take the stairs two at a time. Not sure how much time I have, I go straight to his den. I never really go into his den. It’s his own space. I’ve always viewed it as a sort of man cave, so I just stay out. I step through the door and feel so out of place. Not sure where to start, I look around the room and my eyes land on his desk chair. I have a seat at his oversized desk and turn on his computer. Just like his phone, his computer requires an access code.

His life is guarded by a fortress of security codes. This time it’s not as easy, but I put in the name of his boat V-A-D-E-R. What is it with men and their toys? Rolling my eyes so hard I should be able to see my brain, I go straight to his browser and pull down the history. No social media sites, but there is a ton of porn. Whatever. Every guy looks at porn. I’m not even sure what I’m looking for or why I think it will be on his computer. I pull up a search window and look through his downloaded files. There are a ton of images, but it’s hard to tell if they were just downloaded like porn or if they were sent to him.

Then I notice an email icon in the corner. Bingo! I go through his two email accounts, but I don’t see anything unprofessional sounding. Taking a deep breath, I sit back in his chair and stare at the screen before I release a heavy sigh.

What do I know from what I’ve seen tonight? I have nothing concrete. There were no replies in his phone. There was nothing to give me any real information. The picture of Steph, whoever the hell she is, was deleted. I am married to a sexy, rich heir to the La Perla throne. It is possible he has unwanted admirers.

One text keeps running through my head on repeat.
Are you coming over tonight? I miss you. I miss you. I miss you.

“Dammit!” I close out of everything carefully on his computer and shut it back down. Without thinking, I slide open the drawer to his desk. It’s just a bunch of papers, but something shiny catches my eye. I move the papers away and that’s when I see it.

“What the—? Since when does Grant have a gun? Why does he have a gun? Why didn’t I know he had a gun in our house? Shouldn’t I know he has a gun in our home?” My mind is on overload.

Slightly freaked out, I move the papers back how they were, close the drawer, and high tail it out of the room, closing the door behind me.

After washing my face, throwing my hair in a messy bun, and changing into my favorite pajamas, I climb into bed. Taking a beloved book off my nightstand, I attempt to read for a while. My brain won’t let me focus on the words in front of me, though. It’s stuck in overdrive.

I’m not sure if I should confront Grant or not. Technically, I was snooping and I have zero concrete evidence that he has done anything wrong. Somehow, though, I know, deep in my gut, it’s exactly as bad as it looks. There were other times I should have seen it, but I still don’t want to believe it’s true. 

My brain and my heart are now in an internal battle I might not survive. What would I do without Grant? Other than my career, he is pretty much my whole life. He is the only man I’ve ever loved. He’s had my heart since we met. What I’ve seen tonight ripped my heart right out of my chest.

Even broken hearted, I love him. I want us to work. I want a family with him—I think. My eyes are so tired and my body feels completely drained from the evening. Unfortunately, I can’t shut down my brain. It rattles on until the exhaustion finally takes hold of me.

I’m startled awake when someone removes the book from my chest. It’s Grant. “What—what time is it?” I ask groggily.

“Midnight, you fell asleep reading.” He moves in and pushes a free strand of hair out of my face and behind my ear. Then he kisses me on the forehead before covering me with the duvet. “Get some sleep, beautiful. You look exhausted.”

“Bad day. Why are you getting home so late?” I ask, trying to keep myself calm.

“Had a late dinner meeting with Dad.”

“Everything all right?”

“Yeah, everything is fine. Get some sleep, babe. I’m going to hop in the shower.” With that, he walks into the bathroom.

The first thought to cross my mind is why does he need to take a shower right now? Is this going to be my life from now on—suspecting every move he makes? I roll over, snuggling my face into my comforter, and cry silent tears into it until I fall back asleep.

In the middle of the night, my pager goes off from the nightstand. It’s the hospital. Time to bring a new life into the world.

Normally, one of
the four doctors in my practice is on call for deliveries on certain days. I have a high-risk patient who I had promised I would be there for her delivery. When she went into labor, the hospital paged me right away.

April is pregnant with twins, and she has opted to try for a vaginal birth. She begged me to be the one to deliver so I promised her I would make it happen. Of course, I hadn’t counted on being a worn down emotional train wreck when it happened, but such is life. Luckily, for all in involved, I could deliver a baby with my eyes closed and one hand behind my back at this point. Pulling on scrubs and my doctor smile, I’m ready.

I walk in to check on how things are progressing with April and the babies. The delivery nurse has filled me in on her progress and we are getting close.

“How are we doing, April?”

“I’m—I’m—okay.” She strained to speak.

“I want to discuss the epidural with you, okay? I know you want to forgo it. I respect that. I just want you to know you are getting to the end of the point where we would still be able to give you an epidural. I don’t want to scare you. I just want you to be aware if we don’t do it now, you’re not going to be able to get one. We are getting close to pushing.”

April looks me dead in the eye before she speaks clear as day. “I want the fucking drugs!” she says through gritted teeth. Childbirth has a way of making even the sweetest women become terrors.

“Okay. I will get the ball rolling. You keep breathing and if you want, I can send someone in to give you a cocktail until they can do the epidural.”

“No, just get me the good shit.” I chuckle at the face her husband is making at her words.

He looks at me frightened and points to his arm, and I can see he has nail marks dug all up and down it. “Please, please, get her the epidural. Hurry,” he begs.

“I will try to get the anesthesiologist in here as soon as possible. You’re doing a great job, guys. It will all be over soon.” 

It is two hours later when we are ready to push. April has a serene smile on her face now. With the epidural in place, she isn’t feeling much other than pressure.

“Okay, April. When I say push, Bob is going to push one leg back and Nurse Denise is going to push the other one back. When I say, I want you to curl over your belly, bear down, and push as hard as you can through it. Then we’ll take a breath and do it again.

Denise gives me a nod to inform me of an impending contraction showing on the monitor.

“All right, April, it’s time to meet those babies. Take a deep breath in and push as hard as you can for me when you release it. Good, just like that. Push. Push. Take a breath. That was great.” April is heaving in breaths and recovers perfectly. “Okay, we’re going to do it again, April. Take a deep breath and then push. Just like last time.”

After about thirty minutes, Baby A is crowning. “You’re so close, Mom. The head is almost out. Give me the hardest push you can, and I will get this baby out!”

“Get it out, get it out!” she begs.

“I will, April. I need one good push.”

April takes a deep breath in and screams a deep, guttural scream as I guide the first baby out the rest of the way.

“Our girl is here! She’s perfect, Mom. Good job.” I hold her up so they can see her while the cord is being cut before I hand her off to the neonatal team.

“She isn’t crying, why isn’t she crying?” I can hear the panic in April’s voice.

“She is perfect, April,” I say, commanding her to look at me. “We have one more. You can do this. You are almost done. Are you ready to meet your other baby?”

“Yeah, I’m ready,” she says weakly.

“Convince me. Where is that fire you had earlier? Find it again and use it. You can do this—say it.”

“I can do this,” she says with vigor.

“Say it again!”

“I can—do this!” she screams through tears as another contractions starts.

“Okay legs, ready?” Bob and Denise nod to me and I make eye contact with April once more. “April, let’s meet your little boy. Take a deep breath and push just like before.”

Twenty-minutes of pushing later, April is beyond exhausted. She pushes one more time, and the peach fuzz on the head of Baby B peeks out at me.

“That’s it! You’re doing it! His head is coming out! You are so close. A few more big pushes and you can be done! Take a few seconds and breathe. That’s it. Okay, now one big, deep breath, April.”

She pushes so hard I swear a vein is going to burst in her forehead.

“Good girl! His head is out.” That’s when I notice he has a double loop around his neck. Holding eye contact with April so she remains calm, I guide her as if nothing is wrong.

“Deep breath, April, I need one more big push right now! Go! Push for me! As hard as you can.” As she pushes, thank God he comes down enough so I can untangle him. I unwrap the cord, once, twice, and then I guide him the rest of the way out.

“You did it, April!” Baby B takes a gulp. He’s blue, but he breathes. I look at him as the cord is cut and realize he is a she. I hand him to Neo and turn back to April and Bob.

“Mom, Dad, Baby B has a surprise for you. He is a she. You have two beautiful, perfect little girls.”

“What? Two girls?”

“Two girls,” I confirm. “Surprise! The first of many that will come with parenthood.”

“Two girls,” she repeats. “Two girls. I only have one girl name.”

“I’m going to massage your stomach so we can get everything else out, April. Let’s get you finished up so you can get to your sweet girls.”

“Two girls,” she repeats again. I can’t help but smile at her bewilderment.

A few hours later after taking care of a few things, I check back with April.

“How are things going, Mom?” I ask when I enter the room.

“Great,” she beams up at me. “They’re perfect. Thank you, Dr. Silver.”

“They’re beautiful.”

“You have to say that, you’re the doctor.” She laughs.

“Nope, if they’re ugly I just don’t say anything at all.” I join her laughter. “They really are beautiful. Congratulations.” I’m proud of her. “I am leaving in a little bit here, but I just wanted to check in on you all before I left. Dr. Andrews will be coming in when I leave. If you need anything, buzz a nurse. There should be a lactation consultant coming to meet with you in the morning. The nurses can help you with that, too. I will see you before you are discharged. Try to get some rest.”

“Dr. Silver?”

“Hm?” I am busy filling out her chart.

“Bob and I can’t think of another name. We thought, maybe we would name one after you. Your first name is Alyssa?”

I look up in awe. “It is, yes. Wow. That’s—wow. I’m honored, truly.”

“Bob said you saved her. The cord was around her neck?”

“It was,” I grimace. “It happens all the time. She is perfect, though. You did good, April.” I touch her arm softly. “Get some rest and enjoy those little ones.” I smile at her and leave to go get some rest myself.

I take up in an on-call room for a few hours so I can be refreshed for my office hours. What a night. Lying on one of the cots, I think about the past twenty-four hours. I really want what April has. I want a baby. I think over all of the things I’ve recently learned about Grant.

I really think about what I want to do. The longer I lie there, the more I realize I’m not going to leave him. I love him. Without real evidence of him doing something wrong, I decide to do nothing. Instead, I am going to make more of an effort with us. Instead of envying other people’s green grass, stay home and water your lawn? Something like that anyway. I decide to make the effort. If I want my marriage to work, I need to
make
it work. So, I’ll fight for it.

I have a meeting with Rachel and the other two doctors later in the day to let them know I need to shorten my hours for personal reasons, at least for a while. They don’t seem surprised and no one fights me on it.

I am going to put in extra work to keep my marriage. It’s very possible I’m already pregnant. Either way, I need to do this for me. At least then, I know I will have done everything possible to make it work.

* * *

“Have a great
night, Donna. See you tomorrow,” I say over my shoulder to the receptionist as I slide into the driver’s seat.

My plan to make an extra effort starts tonight. I’ve been so out of touch, so far away from Grant recently with all of the hours we each put into our careers. Maybe that’s been the problem all along—I haven’t been around enough. I’m thankful the practice was okay with me cutting my hours back to tend to family matters. I need this—we need this.

I pull out of the parking lot and smile as my car comes to a rest at a red light. Lyrics I haven’t heard recently are streaming into the car and making me nostalgic.
Grant
, I sigh, listening to our song and just thinking of him, I get the feels all over.

How did I let things get to this point? The sun used to rise and set in my world with Grant and now I’m so caught up in my career. I don’t give him nearly enough attention. I really want things to turn around for us. I want to have a family and be happy together. I want it to work out, but can I trust him again?

The blare of a car horn behind me snaps me back to reality. I slam on the gas and swerve before correcting it as I try to calm down from being startled. The rest of the ride home, I take in the scenery, something I haven’t done in a very long time. There are huge oak trees lining the roads on the way to our house. I’ve taken for granted how beautiful my life is. I’ve forgotten to look around, breathe, and to enjoy it lately.

After a quick stop to pick up sushi, I pull into our long driveway and I curse when I see Whitney’s red Beemer parked off to the side. Of all the nights, Whit. Really?

Usually, I would still be at work. I’ve decided to come home early tonight to surprise Grant with his favorite food and spend some quality time together. I hope this will be a cornerstone for us, put us back on the right track. I gather my workbag and our dinner and brace myself for whatever Whitney needs. I’ll play nice friend and then quietly explain why she needs to leave—immediately.

Holding my workbag with one arm, I put the handle of the sushi bag in my mouth and use the other arm to open the heavy wooden front door. I close the door quietly and slip off my heels before I venture into the kitchen with my things. The floors must have been waxed today. I catch myself just before I wipe out as my nylons make keeping my balance on the floors now near impossible. Dammit.

Bracing myself on the wall to the right, I grab tight to the bags I’m carrying and look to make sure they’re intact. All good, I think as I blow a strand of hair out of my face. Strange Whitney and Grant aren’t in here, I think idly. I walk in and place the bag of sushi on the countertop of the island in the center of the kitchen.

That’s when I hear it.

What in the world? I hear a thumping noise—over and over. I think someone must be doing work in one of the rooms upstairs. We’ve been renovating a couple of the guest bedrooms. I throw my workbag over my shoulder and situate the strap across my chest. Halfway up the staircase, the banging noise is accompanied by something else, something unmistakable. I freeze and listen for it again thinking I must be hearing things. The thumping continues so I finish my ascent up the stairs and down the hall toward the bedrooms. Then I realize the noise isn’t coming from the bedrooms. It sounds as if someone is going to come through the wall of Grant’s office.

Crossing the hallway to the den, I notice the door is open ever so slightly. Before I can peek in, I hear the unmistakable noise again. My heart drops clear out of my body. I don’t know where Whitney is, but Grant is going at it with some floozy. I throw open the door with every intention of busting Grant and making him wish he had never met me. Only when I open the door, they don’t stop. Grant has a woman bent over the edge of his desk. Their backs are to me, but freeze because I recognize this woman. Black curls I have seen a million times adorn her head. I would know her form anywhere. Bent over Grant’s desk is Whitney.

If you could have seen inside my body, I would bet you would have been able to watch my heart actually shrivel up upon the realization. My body was in such a state of shock, I couldn’t speak, I couldn’t move. Frozen to the spot, I stood there in horror, and all I could do was watch. For a few minutes, I remained in the doorway and watched as my husband, the man I promised my life to, railed my best friend since childhood from behind.

It was like an out of body experience, only I was clearly still in my body. No one in the room was any wiser to my presence. I watched as Whit slammed her hands on the desk and the rest of her body followed, collapsing after her glorious orgasm. After twenty-five years, I learned what Whitney sounds like when she orgasms.

I watched as Grant grabbed both of her hands in his own. It was an affectionate touch. This isn’t new or at random. I saw a shiver run down his spine as he poured himself into her. I saw it all. I’ll never forget a moment of it. The emotional pain I felt rip through me at this small gesture was so harsh, it felt physical.