Love Ends, Freedom Awaits

The day I found out I was pregnant, my husband Brandon's secretary, Jenna, posted a photo of her baby bump on Instagram. The caption read, [As long as you're loved, you can still be a beautiful girl--even when you're pregnant!]

In the picture, she was wearing nothing but lace lingerie, leaning into Brandon's chest while they took a selfie. His hand was resting on her bare, swollen belly. On his finger was the exact same wedding ring as mine.

I commented, [Congrats.]

Seconds later, my phone rang. Jenna was on the other end, frantic. She apologized, claiming she posted the picture to get back at her boyfriend after a fight.

Brandon grabbed her phone and snapped at me, "You can't have a baby, so now you're losing it seeing someone else pregnant? No wonder you can't get pregnant with all that jealousy."

Five minutes later, Jenna posted again: [Soon, I'll have two strong men protecting me!] And Brandon liked it immediately.

I took off my wedding ring, tossed it into some bushes, and headed back to the hospital to schedule an abortion.

For once, Brandon made it home before 9 p.m.

He noticed the untouched fertility meds in the trash and frowned. "Throwing a tantrum over something so small?"

I kept my voice steady. "I'm not angry."

He laughed mockingly. "You threw away your fertility meds, but sure, you're not mad. Do whatever you want. But remember, you're the one who's desperate, not me."

I was about to show him my pregnancy report when he handed me a dark shoebox. "This is from Jen. She's young, and doesn't know any better. She freaked out when she saw you upset and said something as dumb as talking about abortion. She wanted to send you a gift to apologize."

He opened the box. Inside was a pair of YSL heels.

But they were obviously Jenna's. The soles were worn, and the paint on the heel was chipped.

"Take them. They weren't cheap, and she barely wore them. She's only been working for a short time, so she doesn't have much. But giving you these shoes really hurt her," Brandon said.

I let out a dry laugh. Thirty minutes before he got home, Jenna had posted on Instagram, flaunting her brand-new Chanel sandals with the caption: "To the best boss in the world! Thanks for your obvious favoritism--it gives me the confidence to show off!"

When I didn't take the shoes, Brandon's expression hardened. "Sylvia, what's your problem? You're almost 30, and you're still giving a young girl a hard time? Is this really necessary?"

He threw the box at me, hitting me square on the head.

I groaned, grabbing my forehead as tears filled my eyes.

Brandon looked alarmed. "I didn't mean to do that. Let me see."

I pulled away as he reached out. "I'm fine," I muttered.

Ignoring me, he pried my fingers away from my forehead, seeing the swelling. His face darkened. "This doesn't look fine. Stay here. I'll get some ice."

Before I could stop him, his phone rang.

The screen lit up, showing the caller ID: "Little Trouble," dripping with affection.

"Brandon!" Jenna's voice came throug...