When I entered the kitchen, I was stunned to find a poster of my husband’s ex-wife fixed to our fridge. What began as his twisted way of “encouraging” me quickly evolved into a scheme that deeply made him regret his actions.
That morning, after a restless night with our baby Ava, I felt utterly exhausted. I stumbled into the kitchen, longing for a quiet moment with my coffee.
However, what greeted me on the fridge stopped me cold — a large photo of Monica, Eric’s ex-wife, was taped prominently on it.
“Morning, babe,” Eric called out, not even lifting his eyes from his phone.
“Don’t call me babe. What on earth is this?” I demanded, pointing at the photo, my voice shaking with emotion.
He looked briefly at the poster, then back at me, nonchalantly. “Just some motivation for you. So you remember what a real woman is supposed to look like.”
His audacity left me speechless with rage. I stood there, unable to form words, while he nonchalantly sipped his coffee.
“You can’t be serious, Eric,” I finally whispered, barely audible.
He just shrugged, dismissive. “Thought it might help. Get you back in shape. For your own good.”
I left the kitchen to hide my tears. Ava’s cries from the living room snapped me back to reality, a constant reminder of my daily grind of caregiving.
Later, as Ava slept, I mulled over Eric’s cruel words. He needed to understand the extent of his insensitivity. That’s when an idea took shape.
I looked up Monica’s number. We were not close, but polite enough from a few encounters. After a moment’s hesitation, I dialed her number.