People say the ones who genuinely love you will remain beside you when life gets hard. What I discovered was that sometimes the person who understands your pain most deeply isn’t the one who once promised to love you forever.
A year earlier, I had brought three babies home at once—Mandy, Randy, and Tobby. Three tiny car seats rested across our living-room floor, looking like the most beautiful and overwhelming miracle I had ever witnessed.
Nothing had prepared me for what carrying triplets would do to my body. The doctors used clinical terms such as “pelvic floor complications” and “extended postpartum recovery.” I had a much simpler explanation: sometimes, especially when I sneezed, laughed too hard, or lifted something heavy, my body simply didn’t respond the way it once had.
It embarrassed me, but it wasn’t something I had chosen. I was healing from carrying and giving birth to three babies.
On the harder days, I wore discreet protective underwear. I kept the package tucked away beneath folded towels in our upstairs bathroom. Only my husband, Richard, knew it was there.
At first, Richard would occasionally make jokes about it. I laughed with him because I convinced myself that was simply how we communicated. If I laughed too, maybe it meant we were still on the same team.
But gradually, his jokes became harsher. Especially whenever other people were present.
One morning, after he made another remark during brunch, I finally asked him to stop.
“You worry too much, Bel,” he said.
“I’m not worried. I just don’t enjoy being the joke.”
Richard grinned. “It’s my love language. If I couldn’t tease you, I’d have to hate you.”
I let it go.
That year, I let plenty of things go.
I was exhausted. Three babies needed me around the clock, and on most days I barely had the energy to shower, let alone defend myself whenever my husband said something thoughtless.
There was one person who never laughed, though.
David.
He had been Richard’s closest friend since college. He was quiet, considerate, and somehow always remembered which baby was which.
Whenever he came over, he asked how much sleep I was getting.
Once, while I was attempting to eat dinner with Tobby crying against my shoulder, David reached toward me.
“You look exhausted, Bel. Give him to me and eat while the food’s still hot.”
“You don’t have to.”
“I want to. Sit down.”
