The Cheater

The steady beeping of the heart monitor tells me that my husband, the bastard, is still alive. I arrived two hours ago, after a phone call that changed my life. 

You’re husband and daughter have been in a car accident, the caller said.  I do have a husband, but we don’t have a daughter. 

In a fog, I drove to the hospital, confused and angry, but responding because that’s what a good wife would do. I’ve always been a good wife. 

I arrived to find, not only him, but her. In the same room next to him, is another bed, another soul clinging to life. She’s young, maybe 25, about as old as our marriage. It’s possible she could be our daughter, but she’s not.  I haven’t corrected them though. Only I know the truth, she’s my husband’s girlfriend. 

After arriving at the hospital I was rushed into the ICU waiting area and met by a nurse and chaplain. Their grave faces made it clear that it was a grim situation. The ER nurse explained the car was hit on the passenger side, my husband’s side. The driver, my ‘daughter’, was unconscious and bruised,  being checked for internal bleeding. They were flown to the hospital by helicopter. My mind vaguely wonders if that was the helicopter I heard on my way home this evening. 

I nodded and tried to follow along, but when she asked me my daughter's name, I couldn’t speak.  I didn’t know what to say, so I said nothing. My eyes filled with red hot tears, and my lips trembled, so they stopped asking me questions and sat me in the waiting room chair, with the chaplain by my side. 

After an hour, they brought me back into the ICU.  I’ve been sitting here for an hour, not sure what to do, not speaking to anyone.  The chaplain finally left, promising to come back soon.  The chair is hard and the air is cold, there is a slight odor of iodine and latex in the air. The beeping of the heart monitor is starting to grate on my ears. I feel sick.

I get up and glance at my husband, he looks practically unrecognizable. An airtube is shoved down his throat and the machine next to him helps him breathe. He’s in bad shape.  For a moment I feel a tinge of sadness, it pierces through the anger, but that makes my heart hurt, so I look away.  

The girl is on the other side of the room, so I cross over and stand above her, looking down. Her face is bruised and swollen, but I can tell that she’s pretty.  Her heart shaped face is similar to mine. Her skin is tan, and her blonde hair has natural highlights through it. She must spend a lot of time in the sun. My hair and skin used to glow too. Now I spend too much time indoors, like most career women my age. Her hands are long and slender. I pick one up and hold it, amazed that it is the same size and shape as mine. I look at her face again, and I realize she looks like me. This girl could be my daughter. A sickening laugh escapes my lips, and a tear rolls down my cheek.  He never wanted kids, but I did.  I feel angry all over again. 

She stirs.  Her monitor picks up speed and she starts to flail and twitch. The alarms ring, and two nurses rush in, pushing me aside. 

Is she waking up?   I wonder if she’s in pain. A twinge of guilt when I realize sort of wanted her to be. I push that aside and focus on this girl, and her life. She should have more than this in front of her. 

“Hen!” She calls out with a choked voice. She’s trying to open her eyes, but they are swollen shut. Her face is so battered from the impact of the airbag that she’s not able to open them. I know she’s calling for my husband, Henry, but I don’t think the nurses do. Her blindness doesn't stop her from looking for him. She’s panicked. “Hen….Henry?”  She screams my husband’s name as though she’s lost in the dark, but it's hard to understand. She’s crying and stuttering through her sobs. One of the nurses administers something through a syringe, directly into the IV.  They hold her down and shush her; trying to calm her and keep her from accidentally ripping the IV from her arm, or falling off the bed. She continues to whimper, but the fight and strength that was there moments ago, has vanished. I’m not sure if it's the medicine or hopelessness. Either way, I’m grateful for it. 

The nurses ignore me as they go about their work.  One of them takes the girl's hand and asks for her name. But she doesn’t respond. She’s appears suspicious. The nurse pats the girl’s hand and tries to reassure her. They must think we don’t talk much, since I haven’t said a word either.  She tells the girl that her mother is here, and the girl’s body stiffens a little, but I think I’m the only one who notices. One of the nurses says she looks like me. I force a smile and nod, because she does. 

The nurses say they’ll give us some privacy, and they leave the room and close the door.  The tension is thick, the only sounds from the machines across the room and the beeping of the heartbeat monitor. 

I speak first, gently.  “It’s ok. I’ve known about you for a while.” I say. 

It’s true. It’s hard to not know when your husband is cheating on you. But I was a good wife, and I looked the other way.

“I think he’s going to die.” I say, trying to keep my voice steady and gentle.  I see a tear roll down her cheek.  She sniffs and swallows. 

“I’m sorry”, she whispers. 

I reach for her hand again. She stiffens and starts to pull away, but I squeeze. 

“You look like me.” I tell her. “Did you know that?” 

She nods, and she turns her head away from my voice. Even through the bruises, I can tell she feels ashamed. 

“He’s quite the charmer.” I say, forcing myself to explain. “He used to make me feel like I was the most important person in the world.” I clear my throat, trying to keep the emotion from taking hold. 

“But he moved on.  I was replaced, and I stopped feeling special a long time ago”  She tries again to pull her hand away, and I let her. 

“It’s not your fault.” I tell her. “He found you, I’m sure of it. You are not the first one.”

She turns back to me then. She’s surprised.  

“I made vows, and I thought it was my duty to stay with him. I was a good wife.” I say.  “But, today I realized that I’ve been putting my life on hold, expecting him to come back to me someday.” 

I gather my strength and try to speak with conviction. “I’m not going to let him ruin my life. He can go ahead and die. I don’t need him.”  I swallow back my tears and force myself to continue.  “And neither do you.” 

She lifts her face to me and tries to open her eyes again, but it's pointless, she’s still blind. I can tell she feels lost. 

“What do I do?” she asks. 

“Don’t settle for a prick like that again!”  I say, with a slight edge in my voice.

A sad smile forces its way through her pained face and small laugh escapes. Tears are welling in her bulging eyes and fall down her cheeks.  I grab a tissue and dab gently at her face. 

“Thank you.” she says, for the tissue or the advice, I’m not sure, maybe both.

“Live the life you want.” I say.  

We hear the heartbeat monitor flatline and the nurses rush in again.  They rush to my husband's bed.

“This is it” I tell the girl.  This time she reaches for me and grabs my hand.  “Stay, please!” she begs.  “I don’t want to be here alone.”  I concede and sit on the edge of her bed, holding her hand while I watch and she listens to them try to save my husband, her boyfriend. It's only a few minutes before they call it. Time of death 8:37pm. 

She’s crying and shaking, but I’m calm and feel oddly relieved. It’s over. I don’t have to pretend anymore. No more good wife. I can just be me. 

The nurses give us their condolences and I ask if my daughter can be moved to another room. They make arrangements immediately.  

She looks up at me then. “Why didn’t you tell them?” she asks. 

 “I don’t know.” I say.  “But you can tell them when they move you. I’ll take care of him. You should call your real mom.”

She nods, and squeezes my hand. “Thank you.” she says again, and this time, I know what she means.  

On my way out, I give them my insurance information, and let them know that the girl isn’t mine. I still don’t know her name, and I don’t want to. But I feel lighter than I’ve felt in a long time.