22/10/2025
After Giving Birth to Triplets, My Husband Called Me a “Scarecrow” and Cheated — But I Turned His Cruelty into the One Thing That Destroyed Him
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I once thought I'd met my lifelong partner. The sort of guy who made life feel easy, brightened every space he entered, and vowed to give me everything. Kael was exactly that and beyond.
Over eight years, we created a home together. Five of those were as husband and wife. And for what seemed forever, we battled infertility, month after failed month, until at last, I conceived... triplets.
Three babies on that ultrasound screen felt like a miracle. The doctor's expression when she shared the news blended joy and worry, and I got it the instant my body began shifting. This wasn't mere pregnancy. This was pure survival from the start.
My ankles ballooned like grapefruits. I couldn't hold down meals for weeks. By month five, I was confined to bed rest, seeing my body turn into something unfamiliar.
My skin pulled tighter than I believed possible. My mirror image turned into a foreign face — swollen, drained, and just hanging in. But each kick, each movement, and each restless night told me the reason behind it all.
When Cove, Briar, and Arden finally came, small and flawless and wailing, I cradled them and thought, "Here it is. This is love."
Kael was overjoyed initially. He shared photos online, took kudos at the office, and soaked up the praise of being a triplet dad. Folks lauded him as a steady pillar and devoted spouse. Meanwhile, I rested in that hospital bed, sewn up and puffy, feeling like a truck had smashed me and reassembled me poorly.
"You were fantastic, honey," he'd said, gripping my hand. "You're amazing."
I trusted him. Lord, I trusted every bit.
Three weeks post-discharge, I was sinking. That's the sole term for it. Sinking in diapers, bottles, and endless cries. My body was still mending, tender, and bleeding.
I stuck to the same two baggy sweatpants since nothing else worked. My hair stayed in a constant messy knot because washing meant time I lacked. Sleep was a treat I'd lost track of.
I was perched on the sofa that morning, feeding Cove while Briar dozed next to me in her bassinet. Arden had settled after 40 minutes of nonstop howling. My top was spotted with spit-up. My eyes stung from fatigue.
I was attempting to recall if I'd eaten that day when Kael entered. He was suited up for work in a sharp navy outfit, carrying the scent of that pricey cologne I once adored.
He paused at the door, scanned me head to toe, and his nose twitched a bit. "You look like a scarecrow."
The phrase lingered between us. For a moment, I figured I'd misheard.
"Pardon?"
He shrugged, sipping his coffee as if noting the forecast. "I mean, you've really gone downhill. I get you just had babies, but come on, Avelyn. Maybe comb your hair? You resemble a live, moving, breathing scarecrow."
My throat turned parched, and my hands shook a touch as I shifted Cove. "Kael, I delivered triplets. I hardly get a chance to use the bathroom, much less..."
"Calm down," he said, chuckling that airy, brushing-off chuckle I was starting to despise. "It's only a joke. You've been overly touchy these days."
He snatched his briefcase and left, stranding me there with our boy in my lap and tears prickling my eyes. I held back tears, though. I was too stunned, wounded, and worn out to grasp it.
But that wasn't the finish. That was merely the start.
Over the coming weeks, the remarks persisted. Small digs masked as care or fun. "When will you regain your figure?" Kael queried one evening as I folded little outfits.
"Perhaps attempt some yoga," he proposed at another point, glancing at my post-birth tummy.
"Man, I miss your old appearance," he whispered once, so faintly I nearly missed it.
The fellow who'd once planted kisses all over my pregnant belly now flinched if I raised my shirt for nursing. He couldn't gaze at me without regret filling his eyes, like I'd let him down by not snapping back right away.
I began dodging mirrors completely. Not due to my looks, but because I hated viewing what he viewed... somebody no longer adequate.
"Do you even listen to yourself?" I questioned him one night after yet another jab at my looks.
"What? I'm just truthful. You always wanted truth in our marriage."
"Truth isn't meanness, Kael."
He rolled his eyes. "You're overreacting. I'm simply urging you to care for yourself once more."
Months dragged on. Kael began lingering late at work, messaging less, and arriving home once the babies slept.
"I require room," he'd claim when I wondered why he was absent. "It's overwhelming, right? Three little ones. I need downtime."
Meanwhile, I sank further into bottles, diapers, and wakeful nights melting into tiring days. My body throbbed nonstop, but my heart ached more. The husband I'd wed was fading, swapped by a chilly, remote... and harsh figure.
Then arrived the night that altered all.
