The Sky After the Rain

1
On our wedding anniversary, my husband updated his food blog, Memos for Evie.
The post featured a photo of the Beef Wellington he had just placed on the table. The caption read:
Year three, a new creation. May you always love the simple joys of this world.
The top comment was from a fan: What amazing dish did Eddy cook for his wife this time? Youre so lucky!
He replied: She loves it.
But the thing is, I dont eat beef.

Have a taste?
Eddy slid a small, perfectly sliced piece of steak across the table to me, his eyes filled with anticipation. He was wearing a new white shirt Id bought for him, his features soft and gentle in the candlelight.
A single serving of Beef Wellington at a restaurant costs a fortune, yet my husband had spent the entire afternoon recreating that expensive delicacy just for me.
A warmth spread through my chest.
I picked up my fork but hesitated. Eddy I dont eat beef. Did you forget?
The smile on his face flickered for a fraction of a second. Sorry, I forgot. His apology was smooth, natural. Things have been so hectic with the new project at work, my minds a mess. How about I make you some pasta instead?
I shook my head and smiled, telling him it was fine. There were plenty of other dishes on the table. Hed prepared an entire feast for our anniversary: escargots de Bourgogne, cream of mushroom soup, and even my favorite, a fluffy souffl.
But that flawless Beef Wellington, sitting silently in the center of the table, made my stomach clench. In all our years together, he had never once cooked beef.
My gaze drifted to his phone, which hed left on the table beside him. The screen was lit up, displaying his food blog with its million followers: Memos for Evie.
On a strange impulse, I picked it up and tapped on the latest post.
Year three, a new creation. May you always love the simple joys of this world.
I scrolled down through the three thousand comments. Beyond the sea of envious replies at the top, one bolded comment from a special follow caught my eye.
The username was EvieNeverLooksBack.
Eddy, happy anniversary to me too, from across the ocean.
Eddys hand shot out to snatch the phone back, but I was faster. I tapped on her profile.
The background of her page was a hazy photo of a couple on a school field at dusk. A boy in a white shirt and a girl in a pleated skirt.
Even through the blur, I recognized him. It was eighteen-year-old Eddy.
And the girl I happened to know her, too.
Evelyn Monroe.
Eddys college ex-girlfriend. The one his friends still talked about with a wistful sighhis old flame, the one that got away.
My knuckles turned white as I gripped the phone.
So, Evie was Evelyn.
Eddy once told me that we would have a beautiful daughter one day. Evie, hed said, was the name he had picked out for her.
I turned the phone to face him, my voice barely a whisper. So, Memos for Evie its memos for Evelyn?
And Evie was never a name for our daughter, was it?
The color drained from Eddys face. His lips moved, but no words came out.
I couldn't stop myself. I kept scrolling through Evelyns feed. Her latest post was from three days ago, a picture of her feeding pigeons in Paris. The caption: Missing the taste of roasted sweet potatoes from that little street corner vendor.
And Eddys blog, just two days ago, had a new post. A photo of a perfectly roasted sweet potato, glowing with warmth. The caption: Some flavors never change.
Further back, Evelyn mentioned she was craving something sweet. Eddy made a souffl. Caption: A little sweetness for you, always.
Evelyn complained about not sleeping well. Eddy simmered a calming herbal soup. Caption: May you sleep soundly every night.
Post after post, year after year. For three whole years, over three hundred entries. Every meal he had ever made for me was documented on this account, Memos for Evie. I had been so moved by what I thought was his unique, romantic gesture just for me. My colleagues envied me, saying Id married the perfect mana handsome, devoted chef.
It was all a lie. A complete and utter joke.
Eddys silence shattered the last of my illusions.
I looked up at him. Eddy, Im pregnant.
I pulled the crumpled test from my purse and laid it on the table between us. Six weeks.
I had planned to give it to him as a surprise, the best anniversary gift of all.
Eddys pupils contracted. He stared at the test, then at me, his face ashen.
Claire he finally choked out, his voice raw. Im sorry, I
So, when you wrote she loves it on your blog, I cut him off, my voice steady, who is she?
Eddys Adams apple bobbed. His breathing grew heavy and ragged. He looked at me, his eyes a swirling mess of panic, guilt, and the cornered anger of being exposed. Claire, its not what you think.
He reached for my hand, but I pulled away.
Then what is it? My voice was quiet, but every word was sharp. Tell me. Am I misunderstanding, or have you been lying to me this whole time?
Three years of marriage, all those tender moments, now felt like a thousand tiny needles piercing my skin. I finally understood. All his kindness, all his care for me, had been filtered through the shadow of Evelyn Monroe.
He wasn't taking care of me. He was reliving his memories of another woman through me.
The light from the crystal chandelier overhead felt blindingly bright. Eddy finally gave up trying to explain. He slumped into the chair opposite me, burying his hands in his hair, a portrait of defeat.
Its over between us. It has been for a long time, he said, his voice hoarse. Claire, thats all in the past. I love you now.
I laughed. The sound was harsh and jarring in the quiet room.
You love me? I pointed at the steak. You love me, but you dont know I dont eat beef?
You love me, but you planned on naming our child after your ex-girlfriend?
Eddy, dont you dare insult the word love.
My eyes fell back to the phone screen. Eddy, happy anniversary to me too, from across the ocean. The words sliced at my heart.
I pushed the phone back to him. You should reply to her. You dont want to keep your old flame waiting.
As if on cue, the phone began to ring, shattering the heavy silence.
The caller ID read: Evie.
Eddy froze, his thumb instinctively moving to reject the call.
I watched him. Answer it, I said slowly. Why wouldnt you?
His finger hovered over the red icon for a long moment before finally swiping to green.
I couldnt hear what was said, but the tension instantly drained from Eddys body. His voice, when he spoke, held a tenderness I had never heard before, an unconscious doting tone.
Evelyn.
That one name was enough to shatter my last defenses. He always called me Claire. Only for her was it the intimate, bone-deep Evelyn.
I couldnt make out her words, only piece together the story from his replies. It seemed she was alone abroad, had just broken up with her boyfriend, and her chronic stomach issues were flaring up.
Dont cry. Im here, Eddy murmured, his voice low and soothing, like he was comforting a heartbroken child. You want my soup? Okay, Ill figure something out.
Be good. Dont eat anything you shouldnt. Wait for me.
I sat at the table, methodically eating the now-cold souffl. The dessert that once tasted like pure bliss was now just a bitter paste in my mouth.
Finally, he hung up. He turned and met my gaze, a flicker of discomfort on his face. Claire, Evelyn she just broke up with her boyfriend. Shes not in a good place.
I said nothing, just stared at him.
She has really bad stomach problems, and shes all alone in Paris. Im just worried.
And? I asked.
Eddy pressed his lips together, as if making a difficult decision.
Christmas is in two days. We promised wed go to my parents for dinner, I reminded him.
I know. He strode over to me and knelt, trying to take my hands. Claire, I know this sounds horrible right now. But Evelyn she really cant handle this alone. Can I just He trailed off, searching for the right words.
You want to go to Paris? I finished for him.
Silence.
My heart sank, stone by heavy stone.
I was pregnant. Our home, our promised holiday with familynone of it mattered more than a single phone call, a few tears from her.
Can you please not make this a scene? Seeing my silence, Eddys patience seemed to wear thin. His brow furrowed, his tone shifting to one of annoyance and accusation. Claire, I admit I was wrong about the blog, and I apologize. But Evelyn is sick. Shes been through a lot. I cant just abandon her.
Shes been through a lot? I repeated the words, a hysterical laugh bubbling up inside me. What about me? Has my life been easy?
I pointed to my stomach. Eddy, your child is in here! And youre going to abandon your pregnant wife to fly across the world to take care of your so-called troubled ex-girlfriend?
Im not abandoning you! he snapped, his voice rising as if Id hit a nerve. Ill only be gone for a few days, just until shes stable. Ill explain everything to Mom and Dad. Why cant you just be a little understanding?
I looked at this manso familiar, yet suddenly a complete strangerand felt the sheer absurdity of it all. Eddy, are you asking me to be understanding about you leaving to take care of your ex?
Shes not just an ex-girlfriend! he blurted out. The words hung in the air. He realized his mistake instantly, his face paling.
I seized on it. Then what is she? I pressed. Tell me, Eddy. What, exactly, is Evelyn Monroe to you?
He clenched his jaw, a vein throbbing in his temple. The silence was suffocating.
Finally, as if all the fight had gone out of him, he deflated. Claire, Im begging you. His voice was laced with exhaustion. "Are you really going to go?"
I saw the desperation in his bloodshot eyes, the undisguised urgency. "And you won't regret it?"
He didn't answer. He just walked past me and into the bedroom, where he began to pack a suitcase. His movements were quick, decisive, without a hint of hesitation.
I watched him throw his passport, a charger, a jacket into the bag, as if he were rushing off not to a disaster, but to a grand, romantic rendezvous.
The moment he clicked the suitcase shut, I spoke.
Eddy.
Take that passport. And dont ever come back.
He paused for a second, then walked out the door without a backward glance.
The only message I received was one sent from his phone two days prior, in the dead of night: Landed safely. Dont worry.
Dont worry.
What a joke.
He didn't send another message for days.
Soon, the morning sickness hit me, hard. I couldn't keep anything down, eventually subsisting on just sips of water. I sent Eddy a text. No reply.
I took a leave of absence from my job at the bakery, told my mother-in-law that Eddy was away on a business trip, and quietly packed my own bags, planning to go to my parents house.
Just as I finished packing, a wave of nausea hit me. I ran to the bathroom and was violently ill. As I pushed myself up, the world went black. I stumbled forward, my head cracking hard against the edge of the sink.
Blood streamed down from my temple, blurring my vision.
I lay on the cold tiles, a sharp, twisting pain ripping through my lower abdomen. I fumbled for my phone and dialed Eddys number.
It rang and rang. Just as I was about to give up, someone answered.
But the voice was a sweet, feminine coo. Hello? Are you looking for Eddy?
It was Evelyn.
My blood ran cold. Wheres Eddy? I asked, my voice trembling. Put him on the phone.
Hes making soup for me. He cant come to the phone, Evelyn said, her tone a mixture of smugness and impatience. Who is this, anyway? Dont you have any sense? He flew all the way to Paris to take care of me, and you keep harassing him with calls.
The pain in my abdomen was getting worse, more frequent, like a thousand knives churning inside me. I ignored her venomous tone and pleaded, Im his wife. I fell Im bleeding please, tell him to come home
A soft laugh came from the other end of the line, dripping with contempt. Maam, Ive seen this little sympathy act a million times. Faking an illness to guilt a man into coming back? Do you really think Eddy will fall for that?
Im not I really
Yeah, yeah, she cut me off impatiently. My stomach is delicate. Eddy is busy perfecting a new soup recipe just for me. If youre really in trouble, call an ambulance. Stop bothering us.
With that, she hung up.
Listening to the dial tone, my heart, in that single moment, died completely.
The bleeding was getting heavier. My consciousness began to fade. With my last ounce of strength, I hung up and dialed 911.
Lying in the back of the cold ambulance, listening to the wail of the siren, my mind was a blank slate. The cramping in my abdomen grew more intense. I knew I was probably losing my baby.
And maybe that was for the best.
I didnt want my child to have a father who would abandon his wife and child for another woman.
At the hospital, they rushed me into an examination.
There are signs of a threatened miscarriage, the doctor said gently. Where is your husband? We need his signature to discuss options for saving the pregnancy.
I looked at the doctor and managed a smile that was more painful than a sob.
Hes dead.
The doctor stared, a look of pity in his eyes. Then are there any other family members?
No one. Its just me. I looked at him calmly. Doctor, this baby I dont want it.
He was aghast. Are you crazy? Do you have any idea what this could do to your body? If you terminate now, you might never be able to conceive again!
I know.
Then why would you
Doctor, theres nothing to discuss. I cut him off. Do the procedure. Now.
The surgery was a success.
When the anesthesia wore off, the pain was excruciating. Not just physical, but a deep, hollowing agony in my soul.
I lay in the hospital bed, staring at the ceiling, sleepless through the night.
The next morning, the door to my room was thrown open.
Eddy burst in. His eyes were shot with red, his face contorted in a panic I had never seen before. He rushed to my bedside and grabbed my hand.
Claire! The baby? Wheres our baby? His voice was shaking.
I looked at him and found it all so laughable. The baby? I said softly. Its gone.
A violent tremor wracked Eddys body. Gone? he whispered, his face as white as the sheets. How could it be how could it be gone?
Watching him shatter, a strange, vindictive pleasure coursed through me.
Eddy, I killed your child with my own hands.
NO! he roared, a guttural scream tearing from his throat as tears streamed down his face. He collapsed to his knees beside my bed, his hands clutching the sheets. Why Claire, why would you do that? That was our baby
He sobbed like a child, asking me why over and over.
I looked at him, my expression cold as ice. He was already dead the moment you chose to abandon your pregnant wife and fly to Paris for Evelyn.
My words were the final blow, extinguishing the last flicker of hope in his eyes.
My body felt hollowed out after the procedure. I was curled up on the sofa, wrapped in a thick blanket, when Evelyn appeared at my door.
The doorbell rang for the third time before I could muster the strength to answer it.
It was her. Dressed in a chic, tailored cashmere coat, a large paper bag in her hand.
Claire, she said, her voice sweet with a practiced familiarity. Long time no see. I heard you werent feeling well, so I came to visit.
Arent you going to invite me in? Her smile widened as her eyes swept past me, taking in the empty living room. Eddy told me I could use the key to this place anytime.
Before I could react, she had already wheeled her suitcase into my home. She pulled a stack of photo albums from the bag and began to show them to me.
The images were like poisoned daggers, stabbing into my eyes.
One was at the airport.

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