They Called Me Barren. They Picked the Wrong Wife novel · Chapter 1 of 24
Chapter 1: The Toast
Lorraine toasts Courtney's baby at Maggie's table, Maggie says Neil has been sterile for years, and Neil answers with a forged report and a claim on the house; she walks out and finds Callum on Bev's couch.
At six o'clock on Christmas Eve, my mother-in-law stood up at my dining table and asked everyone to raise a glass.
The glass was for my husband's ex-girlfriend's baby.
She sat beside him with one hand on her belly, six months along and glowing in a cream sweater.
My mother-in-law looked straight at her and smiled. "To Neil's Christmas miracle."
Nobody said anything about me.
Two women from her church had come for dinner, and they both turned their heads to see how I would take it.
I stood at the end of my own table holding the serving spoon for the green beans.
For five years Lorraine had called me barren.
She said it softly, always in front of people, always with her hand on my arm.
"Margaret, dear, we're praying for your womb."
For five years I had kept my husband's secret and let her say it.
I owed her something, or I had always thought so.
Lorraine was the one who introduced us, at the church soup kitchen, the month my grandmother died.
She had found us a rental by the river before Neil and I had even kissed.
The ex-girlfriend was Courtney Fenn, and she had arrived at four, with a pie.
Lorraine had opened my front door for her and said, "I invited someone who's alone this Christmas."
At twenty to five Neil had come into my kitchen and handed me his phone.
The message on the screen said: Mom invited Courtney. Just play along tonight, one night. I'll explain everything after. Trust me.
He had kissed my cheek.
I had played along through the soup and the rolls.
I put the spoon down.
"Congratulations, Courtney," I said. "I'm sure it's a lovely baby."
Lorraine's smile got wider. "That's very gracious of you, Margaret."
"It can't be Neil's."
The clock in the hall ticked twice.
"Neil can't father a child," I said. "He had the mumps as a teenager. I found out the month after our wedding."
Courtney took her hand off her belly.
"I kept it quiet for five years because he asked me to," I said. "I'm done keeping it."
Neil's face went white.
Then it went calm, which was worse.
"Maggie," he said gently. "Sit down. You're upset."
"I'm not upset. I'm telling them the truth."
"No, honey. You're telling them what you've told yourself."
He reached into the inside pocket of his jacket and took out a folded envelope.
He had brought it to dinner.
He laid it on the tablecloth beside the ham and smoothed it flat with two fingers.
It was a clinic letter with a blue logo at the top, dated last month.
Under his name, in a box, it said: Sperm count, normal range.
One of the church women read it and put her hand over her mouth.
"I had myself tested in November," Neil said, and his voice shook just enough. "I wanted to be sure before I said anything. Maggie, I'm so sorry. It's not me."
I looked at the paper.
I had never driven him to any clinic in November.
I looked at his mother.
Lorraine was not looking at the letter, and she was not looking at me.
She was looking at Neil, and she was nodding.
"Oh, sweetheart," she said to me. "He showed me that three weeks ago. I begged him to tell you gently."
Three weeks ago she had sat in my kitchen and taught me her pie crust.
My hands were cold.
"The real report is upstairs in my desk," I said. "It's five years old. It has his signature on it."
"Then it's old," Lorraine said. "Things change, Margaret. Let's not make a scene on Christmas."
"I want you out of my house."
"Your house." Lorraine laid her napkin beside her plate. "Neil's name has been on that deed since March. Sit down, dear. Eat something."
I looked at Neil.
He did not look surprised, and he did not look away.
So I stepped out.
I went upstairs, took the manila folder out of my desk drawer, and put it in my bag.
When I came back down they were still at the table, all five of them, with the glasses still raised.
Nobody had put them down.
Neil said, "Maggie, don't do this in front of people."
I took my coat off the hook and left the front door open behind me.
The snow on Linden Street was coming down hard.
I crossed the lawn to number sixteen without feeling it and knocked with my whole fist.
Bev Tanner opened the door in her reading glasses and her red cardigan.
She looked at my face and pulled me in by the sleeve.
"Hush, I saw the cars," she said. "Come in the kitchen, there's coffee. And Maggie, I should warn you."
She lowered her voice.
"Callum Rowan has been on my couch since four o'clock. He saw his mother's car in your driveway and wouldn't go in."
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