CHAPTER SEVEN #2
I resented that she could do something my body couldn't. I resented her flat stomach that would soon swell with my child. I resented her glowing skin and her easy grace and the way she seemed to take up space in my home without ever asking permission.
But resentment wasn't the same as dislike. I didn't hate Oakleigh. I was grateful to her, genuinely grateful, for giving us this chance at parenthood. I could hold both feelings at once: gratitude and resentment, appreciation and jealousy.
What I couldn't hold was the feeling that my husband was slipping away from me. That he was building an emotional intimacy with another woman while I watched from the sidelines, too afraid to speak up because speaking up might endanger the pregnancy.
I was trapped in a nightmare of my own making, and I didn't know how to wake up.
Collette buzzed me into her building without asking why I was there at ten in the morning on a random Tuesday. That was the thing about sisters. They could read your voice through an intercom and know something was wrong.
She opened her door before I even knocked, taking one look at my face and pulling me into a tight hug.
"That bad?" she murmured against my hair.
"Worse," I said, and then I started crying.
Collette guided me to her couch, pressed a glass of wine into my hands even though it wasn't even noon, and sat cross-legged beside me while I told her everything.
The late-night calls. The private texts.
The way Oakleigh always seemed to need Tristen specifically.
The specialist appointment request that had finally cracked something open inside me.
My sister listened without interrupting, her dark hair pulled back in a messy bun, her blue eyes sharp and assessing. She was a year younger than me but had always been the more practical one. The one who called bullshit when she saw it.
"So let me make sure I'm understanding this correctly," she said when I finally paused to breathe.
"This woman is living in your house, calling your husband in the middle of the night, asking him to attend medical appointments without you, and making decisions about the pregnancy without your input.
And when you expressed concern about any of this, Tristen told you that you were interpreting things wrong? "
Hearing it laid out like that made my stomach turn.
"He said I was choosing to see everything in the worst possible way."
"Aubree, honey." Collette reached over and took my hand. "Your feelings are completely valid. What's happening in your home is not okay."
The relief that washed through me was so intense I nearly started crying again. I hadn't realized how badly I needed someone to tell me I wasn't crazy.
"I keep second-guessing myself," I admitted. "Every time I start to feel angry or hurt, I tell myself I'm being unreasonable. She's carrying our baby. She's doing this incredible thing for us. I should be grateful, not jealous."
"You can be grateful and still have boundaries. Those things aren't mutually exclusive."
"But Tristen doesn't see it that way. He thinks I'm being paranoid."
Collette's expression hardened. "Then Tristen is being an idiot."
"He's not an idiot. He's just trying to keep the peace."
"No, he's trying to avoid conflict. There's a difference.
" She squeezed my hand. "Look, I love Tristen.
You know I do. He's been a great husband to you for eight years.
But right now, he's so focused on protecting this pregnancy that he's completely blind to what it's doing to you.
And that woman is taking advantage of it. "
"You think Oakleigh is doing this on purpose?"
Collette was quiet for a moment, choosing her words carefully.
"I think some people are very good at making themselves look innocent while getting exactly what they want.
I'm not saying she's trying to steal your husband.
I'm saying she's enjoying the attention, and she's not doing anything to redirect it back to you. "
I thought about all the small moments I'd been cataloging for weeks. The way Oakleigh always positioned herself close to Tristen in photos. The way she touched his arm when she talked. The way she called him specifically when she was scared, never me.
"What am I supposed to do?" I asked. "I can't kick her out. The pregnancy is high-risk. She needs support."
"She needs professional support. A therapist, maybe. A doula. Someone whose job it is to help her manage her anxiety. What she doesn't need is your husband acting as her emotional support animal while you watch."
The image made me laugh despite myself. "Emotional support animal?"
"I call it like I see it." Collette's expression softened. "You need to talk to Tristen again. Really talk. Not argue, not defend yourself, just lay out exactly what you need from him and what you're willing to accept."
"He'll say I'm putting my feelings above the baby's health."
"Then you remind him that you are the baby's mother. Your emotional health matters too. Stress isn't just bad for surrogates, you know. It's bad for everyone. And right now, you're drowning in it."
I took a long sip of wine and let her words sink in. She was right. I knew she was right. But the thought of having another confrontation with Tristen made my whole body ache.
"I don't know if I can do this for seven more months," I said quietly.
"I'm already so tired, Collette. Every day feels like a performance.
Smile at Oakleigh. Don't react when she touches Tristen.
Don't complain when he leaves dinner to comfort her.
Don't be difficult, don't be jealous, don't be the crazy wife who can't handle sharing her space. "
"Then stop performing." Collette set down her wine glass and turned to face me fully.
"You're not crazy, Aubree. You're not jealous or paranoid or any of the other things you've been telling yourself.
You're a woman whose husband is emotionally prioritizing another woman, and you have every right to be hurt by that. "
The tears started again, sliding down my cheeks before I could stop them. "He doesn't see it that way."
"Then make him see it. And if he can't, then you need to decide what that means for your marriage."
The word hung between us, heavy and terrifying. Marriage. As if it were something that could be decided about. As if eight years of love and partnership could be weighed against a few weeks of uncomfortable feelings.
But it wasn't just a few weeks anymore. And the feelings weren't uncomfortable. They were devastating.
"I love him," I said. "I love him so much it scares me."
"I know you do. And he loves you too. But love isn't enough if he can't see what he's doing to you." Collette pulled me into another hug, her arms tight around me. "You deserve better than this, honey. You deserve a husband who puts you first, even when it's hard. Especially when it's hard."
I pressed my face into her shoulder and let myself cry. For the marriage I was afraid of losing. For the mother I was desperate to become. For the woman I used to be, before infertility and hormones and heartbreak carved away pieces of me I was still trying to find.
"What if this breaks us?" I whispered.
Collette held me tighter. "Then you'll survive. You'll rebuild. But I don't think it has to break you, Aubree. I think Tristen is a good man who got lost somewhere along the way. The question is whether he can find his way back to you."
I didn't know the answer to that.
I wasn't sure I wanted to find out.
But sitting there in my sister's apartment, surrounded by her familiar warmth and her unwavering support, I made a decision.
I was done swallowing my feelings to keep the peace.
I was done being the understanding wife while another woman slowly claimed my husband's attention and time and emotional energy.
If this marriage was going to survive, Tristen needed to see what was happening. Really see it. And if he couldn't, then I needed to start preparing for a future that looked very different from the one we'd planned.
The thought made my chest ache with grief.
But underneath the grief, something else flickered to life. Something that felt almost like resolve.
I was going to that specialist appointment on Thursday.
And things were going to change.
One way or another.