Betrayal in the Closet

Chapter One: The Hand Behind the Maternity Coats

I left the prenatal clinic clutching the first clear ultrasound image of my daughter. When I pushed open the bedroom door, the first clear image of my daughter was still in my hand. For the past twenty-two weeks, she had been nothing more than a heartbeat, a throb beneath her ribs, and a string of numbers on a medical chart.

That morning, she turned around and faced the ultrasound probe. For the first time I saw the outline of her nose clearly. I drove home daydreaming about Damon’s face when I showed him the photo.

He said that he couldn’t go because he had to hold a video conference with clients in Seattle. I wanted to give him a surprise before going back to work. However, I heard something fall to the floor.

When I opened the door, Damon was scrambling to straighten up from our large, messy bed. He was wearing a white tight-fitting vest, with nothing on underneath except the pants he was trying to pull up on his hips.

The belt was wide open. His black hair was wet and messy. As he turned around, a piece of clothing slipped from behind his legs and disappeared.

“You’re back so early.”

It was said too loudly. Too fast. Before I could put away my expectant smile, it was completely broken. I looked at the tousled sheets. His bare feet. Shirt crumpled into a ball and thrown next to the bench.

Even though the room was cool, his forehead was beaded with sweat. Then, I held up the ultrasound photo.

“I brought my daughter’s ultrasound back.”

His eyes moved towards the photo, but there was nothing soft about it. For a terrible second, he looked impatient. Then a look of concern came over his face like a late actor.

“Why is the prenatal appointment so fast?”

“It ended early.”

“Why?”

“She was very cooperative.”

My voice barely vibrated. Damon grabbed a shirt from the floor.

“I spilled my coffee. I was changing.”

There were no coffee stains on the floor. No mug. There is no coffee aroma either. My eyes dropped. Under the cushioned bench at the end of the bed, a champagne-colored lace halter top with a tiny blue charm attached to the shoulder straps was revealed.

I’ve seen it. Claire showed it to me after the engagement dinner. We were sitting on the kitchen floor eating cakes from the cake box because I couldn’t eat a proper meal due to morning sickness.

She put the halter top on herself and said with a smile:

“Owen spent a shameful amount of money on this dress. I’m saving it for our honeymoon.”

Claire Benson has been my best friend since our first year in college. She stood by my side when I got married. When I had my first miscarriage, she rushed to the hospital to be with me.

She helped me paint the nursery. Just three days ago, she put her hands gently on my belly and asked if she could be my daughter’s godmother. And now, her intimate clothes are lying quietly under my bed.

Damon turned sideways. Not towards me. Instead, toward the closet. He blocked most of the closet door. The door only opened a gap of less than an inch. But this inch is enough. One hand clutched the sleeve of my beige maternity coat.

A diamond ring sparkled between her fingers. I even helped Owen when he chose this ring. The smell of Claire’s perfume wafted through the room. Orange blossom and vanilla. It was the same perfume she wore when I was arranging the flowers at my baby shower.

Every cell in my body longed to rip the closet door open. I want to drag her to the light. I wanted Damon to explain why he missed his daughter’s ultrasound and hid disheveled between me and my best friend.

I noticed his mobile phone abandoned on the mattress. And Claire’s cell phone is in the closet where she hides. If I confronted him now, they would delete all the messages before I even got to the door.

They will come up with a perfect lie. For example, the halter top was accidentally left behind when Claire was changing into her baby shower clothes. The sheets were messed up because Damon had just laid down to rest.

The hand in the closet didn’t even exist. My only advantage is that they think I haven’t discovered the truth. Damon walked towards me with a most false smile.

“Is she healthy?”

Tears welled up in my eyes. I looked him straight in the eyes.

“She’s healthy.”

I dropped my phone to my hip. The camera was already on because I had just taken a ultrasound screen in the clinic. I focused my camera on the bench. The first silent photo captured Damon, the messy bed, the tank top, and part of the closet door.

The second photo captured the hand holding my coat. I put my other hand on my stomach.

“I’m a little dizzy.”

Relief flashed across Damon’s face.

“Sit down.”

“I need water.”

“Of course.”

He glanced toward the closet and then walked into the bathroom. I turned and walked toward the corridor.

“I’m going to go sit in the nursery for a while.”

“That’s a good idea.”

He answered too quickly. I walked into the unfinished room across the hall and closed the door. The crib was only half assembled. Boxes of diapers were piled near the window. Color cards for wall painting are posted on the wall.

I sat in the rocking chair, my hands shaking violently, and the ultrasound photo in my hand kept tapping the wooden armrest. A minute later, the bedroom door closed. Soft footsteps passed through the corridor.

The side door downstairs opened and closed. Claire knows the emergency code. I gave her that code because I trusted her and she could come in at any time if she needed help if there were any complications during the pregnancy.

I waited until Damon turned on the faucet in the kitchen to do some washing. Then, I opened the smart security app at home. The access log is loaded. [Claire - Use emergency code] 9:11 a.m. that day.

Last month at 8:47. Two weeks ago 10:03 pm. A total of 6 records. Each date happened to correspond to the day when Damon refused to accompany me to the prenatal appointment. The first recording occurred three days after Claire asked to be my daughter’s godmother.

A message popped up. [Claire: How was the prenatal checkup? I’ve been thinking about you all morning. 】 I stared at these words. I looked again at the photo that proved she was hiding behind my clothes.

My best friend didn’t just betray me. She even casually asked me about my prenatal appointment in the house where she had just slept with my husband. I export access records. Sent photos and diary to a new email.

Then it was uploaded to the cloud where Damon could never touch it. When he knocked on the nursery door, I locked it.

“Emma?”

“I need to stay for a while.”

“I got you some water.”

“Leave it outside the door.”

There was silence. His shadow remains at the bottom of the door.

“Are you angry with me?”

I looked at the ultrasound photo. The daughter’s small silhouette remains motionless in the image.

“No,” I said.

This was the first deliberate lie I’d ever told Damon. This was also the first lie that protected me.