He Cheated in Our Bed and Told Me to Be Reasonable

Five months pregnant, I walk into our bedroom and find my husband in bed with the woman he hired to look after me. Before I can speak, Nathan covers my eyes. "Don't look, Hannah. You don't need to see that." I pull his hand away. Chloe is scrambling beneath our comforter. Our wedding photograph sits on the nightstand beside her. Nathan picks up his shirt, puts it on, and draws the covers over her before coming back to me. "Baby." He kisses my forehead. I stand there shaking. "She doesn't mean anything," he says. "You're my wife. It's completely different." I look past him. Chloe watches us from my pillow. "I love you," Nathan continues. "I respect you. She's never going to have what we have." I barely reach the bathroom before I'm sick. He follows me and puts a hand on my back. "Easy. Think about the baby." I knock his hand away. "Hannah." "Don't touch me." He sighs. "The doctor said we needed to take a break from sex. I've been trying not to put pressure on you." I remember that appointment—the bleeding, the doctor telling us to avoid sex for now. Nathan held my hand all the way home. He told me nothing mattered except keeping us safe. "So you did this?" "I'm a man. I have needs." "And I'm supposed to accept it?" "For a few months, could you try to be reasonable?" I rinse my mouth. My reflection looks pale and unfamiliar. "What if I can't?" Nathan leans against the doorframe. "I don't want a divorce." I turn toward him. "But if that's where you want to take this…" His eyes drop to my stomach. "Who do you think is going to want this situation?" For a moment, neither of us moves. Then Chloe calls from the bedroom. "Nathan?" He turns immediately. I follow him out. She's still in our bed. "I'm sorry," she says. "I didn't know she was coming upstairs." Nathan picks up his phone and calls the housekeeper. "We need clean bedding in the main bedroom." He looks toward the bathroom. "And the floor needs cleaning." Chloe pulls the comforter higher. "Is she angry with me?" "It's not your fault." I put a hand on the bedpost. "Nathan. This is our room." "I know." "This is our bed." "I've already asked for clean sheets." He says it patiently, as though I haven't understood the solution. Chloe starts crying. She's twenty-four. Old enough to know whose wedding photograph she's been lying beside. Nathan hired her two months ago to help with meals and laundry while I was having a difficult pregnancy. He said I needed to let someone take care of me. Now she wipes her eyes with the edge of our sheet. "Please don't blame him. I wanted to. He's helped me so much." Nathan looks at me. "There. Nobody's being taken advantage of." I stare at him. Nobody. He reaches for the cigarettes on his nightstand, glances at my stomach, and puts them down again. The consideration makes me feel sick all over again. "Tell her to leave." His expression changes. "No." "I can't live here with her." "She's good at her job." I almost laugh. "She's in your bed." "Don't be crude." Chloe gets up with the sheet wrapped around her. She stops beside him and takes hold of his sleeve. He covers her hand with his. Five years ago, that hand shook while he put a ring on my finger. We'd been together for five years before that. I knew him when he owned one suit and had to borrow money for the dry cleaning. I helped him choose the watch on his wrist. I don't recognize the man wearing it. "I want her gone." Nathan lets go of Chloe and comes toward me. "Go downstairs. Get some air. We'll talk when you're calmer." "I'm calm enough to know what I saw." "Then you know it's over." He gestures toward the bed. Like that's what I mean. I don't move. His voice drops. "Don't turn one bad afternoon into something you can't take back." "One?"