Not What He Wanted

On our wedding night, Liam, who never touched a drop of alcohol, got completely wasted out of sheer happiness. Or so I thought.
Just as I was wondering what to do, my best friend sent me a wall of text on how to handle it. My cheeks burned with a slight blush, but I followed her instructions, carefully soothing him. Miraculously, Liam, who had been a restless mess, quieted down.
But as I reached for my phone to thank her, a pair of arms wrapped around me from behind. Liam buried his face in my neck, his voice ragged with something that sounded like heartbreak.
"Robin," he murmured, his breath hot against my skin. "It was always you I wanted to marry."
As he spoke, his shirt shifted, revealing a tattoo just over his heart. It was a small, exquisitely detailed bird, a robin, so lifelike it seemed ready to take flight.
A roar filled my ears.
Robin. My best friend of twenty years.
And just like that, I understood. Liam wasn't drunk with joy. He was drunk with the misery of marrying the wrong woman.
1
My mind went blank for a long time before the world slowly seeped back in. My phone buzzed against the silk sheets. I picked it up with a trembling hand. It was Robin.
"Nina, don't let him lie flat on his back when he's this drunk. He could choke if he gets sick. You need to prop his head up..."
The message went on, a five-hundred-word essay on care and concern, but the words swam before my eyes. I couldn't read a single one.
Robin was always like this, so thoughtful, so caring. When Liam had stomach problems, she'd be the one to show up with a thermos of homemade soup. When his car broke down on the highway, she was the first to arrange for a tow. Even when Liam and I had issues in the bedroom, she would just smile gently and whisper advice in my ear, sharing her worldly wisdom.
She always wore this serene expression, a patient, all-encompassing smile gracing her lips. I used to thank my lucky stars for giving me such a wonderful sister.
But now, a violent shiver racked my body. A hot, shameful wave of humiliation washed over me. Id been played for a fool.
When I didn't reply, my phone started ringing, the sound echoing in the silent room, again and again. Id never noticed it before, but that was her way. If Robin didn't get what she wanted, she would push, relentlessly, almost defiantly, until she did.
This time, though, I wouldn't give her the satisfaction.
A few seconds after I silenced the call, Liams phone lit up the darkness. The custom ringtone seemed to have a magical effect. Liam, who had been dead to the world moments before, stirred and answered instinctively. He glanced at me, his eyes glassy, before turning off the speakerphone.
I couldnt hear what Robin said, but the tense lines around his eyes softened instantly. A low chuckle escaped his lips, and soon they were lost in conversation. One of them, oblivious to his new bride sitting right beside him. The other, seemingly forgetting it was her best friends wedding night.
The clock on the wall struck midnight before Liam finally ended the call, the ghost of a smile still lingering on his lips. When his eyes finally found me, it felt like an afterthought, a courtesy. His gaze rested on my face for a few long seconds.
For a moment, I thought he might ask why my makeup was streaked, why my eyes were red and swollen.
But his next words shattered my last shred of pride.
"Why didn't you answer her? She was worried about you, you know?"
I heard something inside me crack, a quiet, splintering sound.
"What?" My voice was barely a whisper.
A flicker of annoyance crossed his face, a stark contrast to the gentle man who had just been on the phone. "Robin was worried sick. You were just sitting here. Why wouldn't you text her back? Do you get some kind of sick pleasure out of messing with people?"
He was so considerate, so protective of Robin's feelings, while mine were completely invisible to him. I just stared, seeing the same handsome face I'd loved for years, but feeling like I was looking at a complete stranger.
Maybe it was the stunned look on my face, or maybe a sliver of sobriety cut through the alcoholic haze. Liam scrubbed a hand over his face, a wave of remorse washing over him. He moved closer and pulled me into an awkward hug.
"I'm sorry," he mumbled into my hair. "I drank way too much tonight."
I fought back the tears stinging my eyes and gently pushed him away. I pointed a shaky finger at his chest. "Why is there a bird tattooed on you?"
Liam went silent, his eyes clouding over as if lost in a memory. In that suffocating quiet, there was nothing left to misunderstand.
I calmly wiped away the smudged mascara from under my eyes and stood up to leave the room. He caught my arm, pulling me back into his embrace. His voice was heavy with exhaustion.
"Nothing ever happened between us, I swear. It was all one-sided, on my part. I don't even like her anymore, not like that. As for the tattoo... I'd forgotten all about it. If you don't like it, I'll have it removed tomorrow, okay?"
My body trembled as a thousand thoughts warred in my mind. My phone vibrated again. A text from my mother, checking in. She wasnt well, but she was always thinking of me.
Finally, in the suffocating silence of our new home, I gave a slow, deliberate nod.
2
When we went to bed, Liam still tried to hold me close, but I found myself inching away from him, creating as much distance as the mattress would allow.
Just as I was drifting off, the phone on my nightstand vibrated, a single, sharp buzz in the dark. I had a feeling I knew who it was. I was right. A message from Robin.
"Nina, Liam didn't yell at you, did he? If he bullies you, you tell me. I'll come over and punch him for you."
If she truly cared about me, she wouldn't have spent an hour on the phone with my husband on my wedding night. I stared at the message for a long moment before a competitive, bitter spark ignited within me.
I snapped a photo of Liam, fast asleep, his head resting on the pillow beside me, looking for all the world like a devoted husband. I sent it to her.
"Nope, he was great! Thanks for checking in, though. We're both exhausted, about to pass out. Big day tomorrow, after all. We're going to get that tattoo removed."
For the first time all night, Robin, who usually replied in seconds, went silent.
In the dead of night, after hours of suffocating pain, I finally felt a small, triumphant breath of relief.
I met Robin when we were nine. Her life was hard. Her father had abandoned her and her mother, leaving them to fend for themselves. Money was always tight, and she never had the things other kids had. But she was so full of life. When I threw a tantrum because my sandcastle collapsed, she quietly came over and built me a new one, bigger and more beautiful than I could have imagined.
That's how we became friends. I saw how skinny she was and started sneaking her milk and snacks from our kitchen. Robin would always accept them with wide, shining eyes and a whispered, "Thank you."
Over time, it became a habit. She got used to my food, my clothes... and eventually, my man.
In the long, dark night, memories sliced through me like a thousand tiny cuts. I stared at the ceiling, my eyes wide open as silent tears tracked paths down my temples into my hair.
The next morning, Liam and I went to the tattoo parlor. He was back to his usual self, buying me coffee on the way, handing me his tablet so I could watch my shows while I waited.
"This won't take long," he said, kissing my forehead. "Watch an episode and then we'll go get some lunch."
He smiled and disappeared into the back room. I watched him go, a small bit of tension leaving my shoulders.
But the relief was short-lived. A moment later, Liam burst out of the room, his face pale with panic. My heart skipped a beat. I jumped up and stood in his way.
"What's wrong?"
"Robin was in a car accident."
My mind went blank. Instinct told me this was no coincidence.
"I'll go," I said, blocking his path. "You stay and get the tat"
He cut me off before I could finish. "What do you mean, you'll go? We're both going. Now."
The old me would have been just as panicked as he was. But the new me didn't move a muscle. I stared him straight in the eye, my voice dangerously steady.
"She's my best friend. Isn't it enough that I'm going?"
Time seemed to freeze. When Liam looked at me, his eyes were filled with an unmistakable disgust.
"Are you even human? All this over a stupid tattoo? You want it gone so bad? Fine!" He stalked over to a counter, snatched a utility knife, and held it to his chest. "I'll cut the whole damn piece of flesh off! Happy now?"
"Go to her," I said softly, just as the blade was inches from his skin.
He froze for a second, then dropped the knife with a clatter and stormed out without another word.
As I turned to leave, the tattoo artist looked at me with an awkward, pitying expression. I just gave her a polite nod and walked out.
A few minutes later, the sky opened up. A sudden flash of lightning was followed by a torrential downpour. I had no umbrella and was soaked to the bone in seconds, forced to hail a cab.
When I got home, I was sneezing, and a wave of nausea rolled in my stomach. Before I could even change out of my wet clothes, my phone buzzed with a series of notifications.
It was Robin. She'd sent a picture of Liam asleep in a hospital chair next to a bed.
The caption read: "Poor guy. He ran around doing everything for me. He's totally exhausted."
Followed by another message: "Oh, by the way, I guess he didn't have time to get that tattoo removed, huh?"
In that moment, I couldn't even describe what I was feeling. My reflection in the dark screen was a mask of cold indifference. In the game of our relationships, I had been made the fool.
So what? At least now, I was free.
I drew a hot bath and was soaking in the tub, drifting in and out of a daze, when a shrill ringtone cut through the quiet. I jolted awake, fumbling for the phone.
It was Robin.
3
I answered, but before I could speak, I heard it.
The unmistakable sounds of two people in bed.
Then Robin's voice, usually so gentle, now laced with a theatrical, breathy sob. "Liam... we can't. This is so wrong... What about Nina?"
"Just this once," Liam's voice pleaded, thick with desire. "She'll never know. Please, Robin, I'm begging you."
My heart didn't even flutter. The parrot we'd had for two years had suddenly learned to talk, and would often squawk, "Love my Birdie! Love my Birdie!" I'd always found it strange. Liam was a reserved man; he never said things like that to me. I thought the parrot had picked it up from the TV.
Now I knew the truth. It was never my birdie. It was his. They had been together for far longer than I could have ever imagined.
Through the phone, I could hear Robin's broken moans, a mix of pleasure and feigned pain. I felt nothing. I calmly recorded a snippet of the call, hung up, and started looking up divorce lawyers.
Later that night, hunger gnawed at me. I found half a sausage in the fridge. But after two bites, a violent wave of nausea surged up my throat. I barely made it to the toilet before I was retching uncontrollably. When I finally stood up, my legs shaking, an alarm bell went off in my head.
With trembling hands, I took a pregnancy test.
When the two pink lines appeared, the last of my defenses crumbled.
I lay in bed in a stupor, finally falling asleep as the first hints of dawn colored the sky.
When I woke up, Liam was home.
He was moving quietly through the living room, tidying the mess I'd made, pulling a blanket over me where Id fallen asleep on the sofa. Now he was in the kitchen, making breakfast.
For years, this was how hed taken care of me. We were childhood sweethearts, our families were close. Our love story wasn't a whirlwind romance, but it had been steady, comfortable, and deep. Or so I had believed. I had no idea when he and Robin had started. Was it when I introduced them at my eighteenth birthday party? Or had it been even earlier?
The only thing I knew for sure was that they had both conspired to keep me in the dark.
As if sensing my gaze, Liam spoke without turning around. "You have everything, Nina. Robin's had such a hard life. She always gives way to you. Why do you have to make things so difficult for her?"
I froze, a glass of water halfway to my lips. The accusation in his voice was so heavy, painting me as some kind of villain who couldn't stand to see anyone else happy.
I said nothing. I just went to our bedroom and started quietly packing a bag. This house was paid for by both our parents; it would be split down the middle. My jewelry, the wedding gifts, I was taking all of it. And I had no intention of returning the money his family had contributed. I'd consider it compensation for his infidelity.
As I mentally calculated my assets, Liam placed a plate of food in front of me.
He started making coffee, chattering on as if nothing was wrong. "Nina, we're not kids anymore. We were planning on trying for a baby this year. You need to be more mature."
At the mention of a baby, my eyes dropped to my stomach. I opened my mouth to tell him, but the doorbell rang.
Liam and I exchanged a look. He paused, then said slowly, "Did you forget? It's your birthday. Robin made a cake to celebrate."
He hurried to the door and opened it. Robin stood there, a sweet smile on her face. Her arm was scraped from yesterday's "accident," but she was clearly fine.
Her eyes found me, and her voice was as soft as ever. "Happy birthday, Nina."
I didn't understand how she could be so shameless, showing up here to torment me when she knew full well how I felt. But it was my birthday. Why should I have to accommodate her? It wasn't fair.
"I'm not happy," I said, my voice flat and cold, "when you're here."
Instantly, Robin's eyes welled with tears. She looked down at her feet, the very picture of wounded innocence.
Liam whirled on me, his voice sharp. "That's enough. Stop making a scene."
For the past two years, whenever Robin was involved, that seemed to be his favorite phrase: Stop making a scene.
I bit down hard on the tip of my tongue and let out a small, humorless laugh. It all felt so pointless. I turned and sat back down at the table. As Robin passed me, she shot me a tiny, triumphant smirk. It was fleeting, but it was there, mocking my powerlessness.
Liam gave me a warning look, but when he cut the cake, he made a point of giving me the largest slice, just like he used to do when I was mad at him as a kid, trying to win me over with treats.
I mechanically took a few bites before an intense itch started to crawl across my skin. My fork clattered onto the plate with a sharp crack.
I looked straight at Robin. "Did you put chestnut flour in this?"
Panic flickered in her eyes, the clumsy performance of a bad actress. "What's wrong?"
I'm deathly allergic to chestnuts. Robin knew that.
Suddenly, all the little details I'd dismissed over the years flooded my mind. The dress strap that mysteriously broke at a party. The final exam paper she'd "accidentally" spilled ink on. The time she'd burned a chunk of my hair while "helping" me curl it. Every single incident had been a public humiliation. How could someone so meticulous be so clumsy at the most crucial moments?
There was only one explanation. She wanted me to suffer.
My mind flashed to the baby. A roar filled my ears. I pointed a shaking finger at the door. "Get out of my house."
Liam scraped his chair back from the table and stood up, his face a thunderous mask as he moved to stand in front of Robin. "This is my house too. You don't have the right to kick anyone out!"
My throat was starting to close up. My heart began to pound erratically in my chest. But Liam was still yelling, his words a meaningless drone. He saw the tears glistening in Robin's eyes, but he couldn't see me, right in front of him, starting to suffocate.
I stumbled toward the medicine cabinet, desperately searching for my EpiPen. Liam grabbed my arm, yanking me back. The cabinet door flew open, and bottles of pills scattered across the floor.
He held me fast, his eyes burning with condemnation. "Nina, apologize to her right now! You have gone too far!"
My fingers scrabbled uselessly on the floor, trying to reach the life-saving injection. My face was turning a dusky red.
Through his look of growing alarm, I summoned every last bit of strength I had and slapped him hard across the face.
My voice was a strangled rasp. "I'm pregnant. And your little friend just tried to kill me."

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