They say that people who truly love you will be there for you when life gets tough. I’ve discovered that sometimes the person who most clearly sees your pain isn’t the one who once vowed to love you forever.
The year before, I’d brought home three babies at once—Mandy, Randy, and Tobby. The three tiny car seats lay on the living room floor, looking like the most beautiful, stunning miracle I’d ever seen.
No one prepared me for how a triplet pregnancy would affect my body. Doctors used medical terms like “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 just didn’t cooperate like it used to.
It was humiliating, but it wasn’t something I chose. I was still recovering from giving birth to three children.
On the heavier days, I wore discreet protective underwear. I kept the package hidden under folded towels in our upstairs bathroom. Only my husband, Richard, knew where it was.
At first, Richard would occasionally joke with me. I laughed with him because I convinced myself that was just how we communicated. If I laughed too, maybe it meant we were still on the same page.
However, over time his jokes became increasingly harsh.
Especially when other people were present.
One morning, after he noticed something again at brunch, I finally asked him to stop.
“You worry too much, Bel,” he said.
“I’m not worried. I just don’t like being the butt of jokes.”
Richard smiled.
“That’s my love language. If I couldn’t hit on you, I’d have to hate you.”
I dropped it.
