Chapter 2
Be the bigger person.
I turned those words over and over.
Be the bigger person?
We'd been married three years. Every month, I handed Mark 2,000 dollars out of my 2,700-dollar paycheck for the household.
The other 700 dollars covered my own makeup and clothes.
He brought home 8,300 dollars a month, so where had all of it gone?
Now I finally knew.
"How exactly am I supposed to be the bigger person?" I said.
Mark looked relieved.
"Can you hold off on the divorce for now?" he asked.
"Why?" I asked.
"The house still has a mortgage. If we get divorced now, I'd have to give you half," Mark said.
"That's what I'm owed," I said.
"But I still have to take care of her and the baby," Mark said.
I stared at him.
"What do you mean by that?" I asked.
"Can you wait two years?" he asked.
"Wait for what?"
"Wait until the baby's born and she's finished her postpartum recovery," he said.
He was dead serious.
"By then, I'll pay off the mortgage and give you the house," he said.
"And what about her?" I asked.
Mark looked down.
"She said she doesn't want to be a single mom after the baby's born," he said.
"So?" I pressed.
"So she wants—" he started, trailing off.
He paused, searching for the right words.
"She wants to be my wife legally," he finally said.
I got the message loud and clear.
"So you want me to put up with this for two years, wait until she has the baby, and then get tossed aside?"
"It's not about tossing you aside. I just want us to split up on good terms," he said.
"We've been paying off the mortgage together," I said.
"My parents paid the down payment," Mark said.
Mark's tone shifted.
"Come on, Emily, be reasonable. My parents put up 600 thousand dollars for the down payment. You've paid 1,000 dollars a month for three years, and that's a little over 35 thousand," he said.
"And the 2,000 dollars I handed you every month?"
"That was for living expenses," he said.
"Three years of that comes to 70 thousand dollars," I said.
Mark went quiet.
"Add the 35 thousand I put toward the mortgage, and I've put in 105 thousand dollars," I said.
"But the down payment was from my parents," he insisted.
"And what about my 105 thousand dollars?"
He threw up his hands, exasperated.
"Fine, we'll sort it all out when we get divorced. But can we just hold off for now?" he said.
"Why?" I asked.
"I told you, she doesn't want to be a single mom," he said.
"That's her choice."
"Emily!" Mark shouted.
Mark raised his voice.
"She's carrying my baby!" he yelled.
I pointed at my belly.
"And what about this?" I demanded.
He froze.
"This one's yours too. Eight weeks," I said.
Mark stared at my belly, his face twisted with all kinds of emotions.
"So what are you planning to do?" he asked, his voice low.
"What do you mean by that?"
"I mean, are you actually going to keep the baby?" he pressed.
I looked at him and searched his face.
"What are you really trying to say?" I demanded.
"Look, she's five months in and there's no undoing it. You're only eight weeks..." he said, and let it trail off.
He didn't have the guts to finish.
But I understood exactly what he meant.
"So you want me to get an abortion?"
Mark stayed silent.
"Mark, are you seriously asking me to abort my baby so your mistress's kid can come first?"
"That's not what I meant!" he protested.
"Then what do you mean?" I pressed.
He stayed silent.
I stood up.
"I'm going to stay at my parents' place for a few days," I said.
"Emily," Mark called after me.
I said, "Think it through before you say another word."
I walked into the bedroom and shut the door behind me.
Outside, Mark's voice came through the door.
"Emily, listen, just calm down. We can work this out," he said.
I ignored him.
I lay down on the bed, my hand resting on my belly.
Eight weeks.
It was still a tiny thing, and it already had a heartbeat.
I closed my eyes, letting the tears fall.
My phone buzzed.
Margaret: [Emily, is Mark back yet?]
Emily: [He's back.]
Margaret: [How is he? Was the trip rough?]
I stared at the screen, typed something out, then erased it.
In the end, I sent: [Margaret, I'm not feeling well. I'm going to the hospital tomorrow for a checkup, and I may need a few days off.]
Margaret: [Is it serious? Do you want me to come with you?]
I answered: [No, it's a small thing.]
Margaret: [Get some rest, and tell me if you need anything.]
I set my phone down.
Margaret was a good woman.
In three years of marriage, she never made things difficult for me.
Every time she came to Hawthorne to see us, she brought something for me.
Mark's paycheck card was always in my hands, but she never asked about it, not even once.
Once when I got sick, she rushed over on the overnight train from her hometown just to take care of me.
When I was in the hospital, she sat by the bed peeling an apple and said, "Emily, you're a good kid. My son is lucky to have you."
Looking back on it now, the whole thing was almost funny.
Was her son lucky to have me?
Her son was out there with another woman who's five months pregnant.
Should I tell her?
I spent the whole night wrestling with that question.