January 2nd. The day of my first miscarriage. I spent the night alone in the hospital, crying until I had nothing left. Jayden said he had to entertain a client. He never came back.
The photo was of the nursery we'd decorated at home. The little quilt I'd sewn by hand was in the frame.
"This is the ultimate thrill. His wife's in the hospital losing their baby, and we're going at it in the nursery. Soaked her little homemade quilt right through."
August 9th. I'd just given birth. I was deep in postpartum recovery, drowning in depression so black I didn't want to be alive.
The photo was of our master bedroom.
"First time sneaking in while his wife's home. This man knows exactly what he's doing. Absolutely insane."
I was gasping for air.
My fingers clawed into my hair before I could stop them. My heart felt like it was being punctured by a thousand needles, the pain so sharp I couldn't breathe.
I fought the scream building in my throat.
Then I remembered. The neighbor downstairs had filed a complaint once.
"Have some decency up there! Screaming in the middle of the night — aren't you embarrassed?"
I'd always been confused. Everyone in our house went to bed early.