Divorce. The Price of a Mistake

My eyes catch a boy. At a glance, he’s about three. That could have been the age of my child—if not for an early miscarriage. He runs toward a man: “Dad, catch me!” I blink once, then again, trying to chase away the tears. Fatherhood suits my husband perfectly. Because it’s him who scoops up the boy, tosses him into the air, and laughs.

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Once, long ago, the one I loved madly betrayed me. I met another guy and married him. My husband healed my heart, but then he betrayed me too.