“Sierra, you don’t understand,” he told me. “Feelings between people are complicated. Choosing Veronica doesn’t mean I don’t love you. She’s not like you. You grew up in a loving home. You had your parents supporting you. But Veronica, she only has me.”
He said that once Veronica gave birth, he’d give her some money, send her and the baby away, and then he and I could go back to living a good life together.
“Sierra, everything passes eventually. People have survived far worse than this. When the dust settles, let’s forget all of this and go back to how we were, alright?”
No. No, it was not alright.
Ten years of my life, and the cost of one human life. How was I supposed to forget everything and pretend it never happened? How could I live with myself?
So, I went to court.
The case dragged on for a while, but eventually he signed the papers. Not because he understood what he did wrong, but because he wanted to give the child in Veronica’s belly a name—to build a new family with another woman.
After the divorce, we cut all contact.