She had highlighted every betrayal in bright yellow. There were even photographs of Camille and me walking hand in hand through the mall and entering hotels together. A handwritten note rested on top, containing only one brutal sentence: “You chose her, so now you can have her, and don’t bother looking for us because my attorney will be in touch soon.”
I collapsed into a kitchen chair, staring at the evidence of my own destruction. I realized then that the affair had started when Camille joined my department while Sophie was six months pregnant. Camille was flirty, carefree, and never asked me to help with the exhausting realities of parenthood, whereas Sophie was constantly drained from nursing and sleepless nights. I had convinced myself that my affair was just an escape, but now I understood the true cost.
My phone buzzed with a text from Camille: “That was so much fun today, baby, and I can hardly wait to see you tomorrow, so please make sure to wear the cologne I love.”
I looked at her message, then at the desolate nursery, and finally at the divorce papers. I tried to call Sophie, but the line was disconnected, and I realized her sister and parents had all blocked my number as well. She had planned this exit perfectly while I was busy playing the fool. As I combed through the legal documents, one specific line made my stomach turn into knots: “The petition for full custody is based on abandonment and financial misconduct during the child’s infancy.”
My breathing became shallow, and for the first time, it was not the divorce that terrified me, but the crushing realization that I might never see my daughter again. I flipped to the final page of the filing, where a thicker piece of paper was attached, and my blood turned to ice. It was a visitor log from the St. Luke Medical Center on the night our daughter was born. My name was at the top, listed as the father who checked in at seven in the evening, but below it was Camille’s name, showing she had checked in at nine that same night.
“That is impossible,” I whispered to the empty room, but my memory betrayed me.
I remembered that night clearly because Sophie had been in labor for eighteen hours, and when Isabella finally arrived, I had wept like a man with a conscience. After Sophie fell asleep, I had stepped into the hallway to check my phone because Camille was texting me constantly, asking if the baby was asleep yet. I remembered whispering to Camille on the phone that I could not talk for long, and Camille laughing softly, telling me, “You sound like a real daddy now.”
