The page had over a year’s worth of posts! Poolside selfies captioned “kid-free zone forever.” Videos of Eric doing shots with Luke, laughing about how “the wife handles the chaos.”
A photo from Cabo, taken three days after he left me, with the caption “escape complete.”
We were in.
Not one word about mental health. Not one photo of our daughters.
“He’s been planning this,” Naomi said quietly. “For a long time.”
I sat there holding my phone, still stupidly looking for the man from the ultrasound in those pictures.
“You have to confront him,” she said.
“I can’t. If I blow this up, I blow up everything, including their whole childhood.”
“He’s been planning this.”
Then I remembered Deborah at the baby shower, her hand on my wrist, her voice low.
I hadn’t understood it then. I did now.
I called her from the nursery, expecting her to defend her son.
“Deborah, it’s Layla. I need to show you something, and I’m scared to.”
The line went quiet for a long moment.
I hadn’t understood it then.
“My son left, didn’t he?” my MIL asked.
I couldn’t speak.
“Layla, I need you to listen to me. I’ve known who my son was for a long time. I watched him do this to two women before you. He runs. He always runs.”
“He went to Cabo. He left me with our newborns.”
“I’ll be there in an hour,” she said.
I couldn’t speak.
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