After I gave birth to triplets, my husband called me a “scarecrow” and started cheating on me with his secretary. He thought I was too broken to fight back. He was mistaken. What happened next made him pay a price he never thought he would have to pay and turned me into someone he would never know.
I thought I had found my partner for life. The kind of guy that made life easier, lit up every room he walked into, and promised to give me everything. Kael was like that and more.
We built a home together over the course of eight years. Five of those times, they were married. And for what felt like forever, we fought infertility, month after month of failure, until I finally got pregnant with triplets.
Seeing three babies on that ultrasound screen felt like a miracle. As the doctor told me the news, her face showed both happiness and worry, and I understood right away as my body started to change. This wasn’t just being pregnant. From the beginning, this was just about staying alive.
My ankles swelled up like grapefruits. For weeks, I couldn’t eat anything. By the fifth month, I was compelled to remain confined to bed, observing my body transform into an unfamiliar form.
I didn’t think my skin could be any tighter. My reflection in the mirror became a strange face—swollen, worn out, and just hanging there. But every kick, every move, and every sleepless night made me understand why it was happening.
When Cove, Briar, and Arden finally arrived, small and perfect and crying, I held them and thought, “This is it.” This is what love is.
At first, Kael was pleased. He posted pictures online, got plaudits at work, and enjoyed being a triplet dad. People praised him for being a sturdy rock and a loyal husband. While I was in the hospital bed, stitched up and swollen, I felt like a vehicle had hit me and put me back together badly.
He’d replied, “You were great, honey,” and held my hand. “You are wonderful.”
I believed him. Lord, I believed every word.
Three weeks after I got out, I was going down. That’s the only word for it. Drowning in diapers, bottles, and cries that never stop. My body was still healing, sore, and bleeding.
I wore the same two pairs of baggy sweatpants since nothing else worked. My hair lingered in a continual untidy knot since washing meant time I lacked. I had lost track of how productive my sleep was.
That morning, I sat on the couch and fed Cove as Briar slept next to me in her cradle. After 40 minutes of incessant howling, Arden calmed down. There was spit-up on my top. My eyes hurt because I was worn out.
When Kael came in, I was trying to remember if I had eaten that day. He was dressed for work in a fine blue suit and smelled like that expensive cologne I used to love.
He stopped at the door, looked me over from head to toe, and his nose twitched a little. “You look like a scarecrow.”
The phrase stayed with us. I thought I had heard wrong for a second.
“Excuse me?”
He shrugged and took a sip of his coffee, as if to say, “I see.” “I mean, you’ve really gone down. I know you just had babies, but come on, Avelyn. You may try combing your hair. You look like a scarecrow that is alive, moving, and breathing.
As I moved Cove, my throat got dry and my hands shook a little. “Kael, I had three babies. I hardly ever get to go to the bathroom, let alone…
He murmured, “Calm down,” and then he laughed that breezy, brushing-off laugh that I was coming to hate. “It’s just a joke.” You’ve been too sensitive lately.
He grabbed his briefcase and departed, leaving me alone with our son in my lap and tears in my eyes. I held back my tears, though. I couldn’t understand it because I was too shocked, hurt, and worn out.
But that wasn’t the end. That was just the beginning.
The comments kept flowing over the coming weeks. Little digs that look like care or fun. “When will you get your figure back?” Kael asked one night when I was folding up tiny clothes.
“Maybe try some yoga,” he said at one point, looking at my stomach after I had given birth.
“Man, I miss how you used to look,” he said once, so quietly that I almost missed it.
The guy who used to kiss my pregnant belly all over would shudder if I lifted my shirt to nurse. He couldn’t look at me without feeling bad, as if I had let him down by not snapping back immediately.
I stopped looking at mirrors altogether. Not because of how I looked, but because I despised seeing what he saw… someone who wasn’t good enough anymore.
“Do you even hear what you say?” I asked him one night after he made another rude comment about how I looked.
“What? I’m simply being honest.” You always wanted honesty in our marriage.”
“Kael, truth isn’t mean.”
He rolled his eyes. “You’re overreacting.” I’m only asking you to take care of yourself again.
Months went by slowly. Kael started staying late at work, texting less, and getting home after the babies were asleep.
He would say, “I need space,” when I asked why he wasn’t there. “It’s too much, isn’t it? Three small ones. “I need some time off.”
In the meantime, I plunged deeper into bottles, diapers, and sleepless nights that turned into long days. My body hurt all the time, but my heart hurt more. A cold, distant, and unpleasant figure replaced the guy I had married.
Then came the night that changed everything.
I had just put the babies to bed after a long night of chores when I saw his phone flashing on the kitchen counter. Kael was in the shower, and I generally wouldn’t look. I had never been the kind of person who snooped.
But something made me want to grab it.
The words on the screen made my blood run cold:
“You deserve a guy who takes care of himself, not a messy mom.”
The name was Selina, and there was a lipstick icon next to it. His assistant. The woman he had seen a few times before, always in a casual way and sounding innocuous.
My hands shook as I looked at the screen. I could hear the shower running upstairs. Briar started to move around in the nursery. But I only focused on that text.
At that time, I didn’t face my husband. Instead, I felt a sharpness in my gut that I had never felt before. Kael was too sure of himself and too proud. He didn’t lock his phone because he thought I wouldn’t look. I slid it open.
The talks with Selina went back months and were full of teasing remarks, complaints about me, and photographs that made me sick to look at. I felt sick to my stomach as I scrolled, but I had to keep on.
I used his phone to get to my email and sent myself every chat. Text captures. I kept a record of all the calls I made. Everything. Thereafter, I deleted the email he sent, cleared the trash, and put the device back exactly how I found it.
I was still breastfeeding Arden when he came down 20 minutes later, with damp hair.
He asked, “All good?” as he got a beer from the fridge.
“Okay,” I said, looking down. “All good.”
I became a stranger to myself in the weeks that followed, but this time in a beneficial way. I joined a support group for new moms where other moms understood what I was going through. My mom came over to help with the babies so I could rest.
I started going for walks in the morning, first for 15 minutes, then for 30 minutes, and then for an hour. The cool air was quiet and gave me a chance to think.
I started painting again after not doing it since before the wedding. My fingers remembered the strokes and how colors blended and told stories. I put some online and sold them quickly. It wasn’t about money. It was about reclaiming what belonged to me.
At the same time, Kael’s smugness grew. He thought I was too broken, dependent, and worn out to notice when he was late and made up excuses. He thought he was going to win.
He had no idea what was coming.
I put his favorite meal on the table one night: delicious lasagna, garlic bread, and red wine. I put on a new shirt and lit some candles. When he got there and saw what was going on, he looked shocked.
“What is this?”
“I wanted to toast,” I answered with a smile. “Us going back to normal.”
He looked pleased to be settling in. We ate and drank. He bragged about his job, his new “crew,” and how well things were going. I nodded, asked questions, and acted like a good wife.
I put down my fork and whispered, “Kael.” “Remember when you called me a scarecrow?”
His smile faded. “Oh, come on. You’re not thinking about that…
“No,” I said, getting up slowly. “I’m not angry. I really do want to thank you. You were right on the money.
“Huh?”
I went to the drawer, took out a thick envelope, and put it on the table in front of him. He looked at it and then me.
“Open.”
His fingers shook a little as he pulled out the printed text shots, pictures, and teasing messages between him and Selina. His face turned pale.
“Avelyn, I… this isn’t what it looks like…”
“It’s exactly how it looks.”
I took another stack out of the drawer. I said, “Divorce papers.” “Your signature is already on file for the house.” I took care of it when we refinanced before the pregnancy. It’s strange what people sign without reading. And who gets sole custody while you’re gone and is the main caregiver?
His mouth fell open. “You can’t.”
“I did.”
“Wait, Avelyn.” I made a mistake. I was dumb. “I never meant to…”
“I fixed it: you were never meant to find out.” “A big difference.”
I grabbed my keys and went to the nursery. I heard him get up and move the chair across the floor.
“Where to?”
I said, “To kiss my babies goodnight,” with my back to them. “Then I’ll sleep better than I have in months.”
The fallout happened at the appropriate time. Selina left Kael after she realized he wasn’t the ideal parent she had imagined. His standing at work went down after someone (unnamed, of course!) reported those negative messages to HR.
After the divorce, he moved to a little apartment across town. He sent child support and visited the kids every other week if I let him.
At the same time, a surprise blossomed. People noticed my online art posts, which were just for fun.
“The Scarecrow Mom” was an artwork that became viral online. It showed a woman made of sewn cloth and straw holding three glowing hearts to her chest. People thought it was strange, beautiful, and real.
A gallery close by got in touch with me. They wanted to show off my work in a private show.
I stood there on opening night, dressed in a simple black gown, with my hair neatly styled, and a genuine smile after many years. My mom stayed home with the triplets, who were OK. Before my departure, I had engaged in breastfeeding, which I cherished deeply, and I assured them I would return soon.
The gallery was full. People I didn’t know told me how my art made them feel, recognizing their own in the woven cloth and tired look of my scarecrow mom. I sold things, made friends, and was full of life.
I saw Kael by the door in the middle of the event. He looked smaller.
He got closer slowly, with his hands in his pockets. “Avelyn. You look wonderful.
I said, “Thanks,” politely. “I took your advice.” I brushed my hair.
He tried to laugh, but it didn’t work. His eyes shone. “I’m sorry.” For everything. I was mean. You didn’t deserve any.
I agreed gently, “No.” “I didn’t. But I deserved more. And now I have it.
He opened his mouth as if to say something, but nothing came out. He nodded and left a few moments later, disappearing into the crowd and out of my life.
Later that night, after the guests had left and the store had closed, I stayed alone in front of “The Scarecrow Mom.” The lights made the paint shine, making the sewn figure look like it was breathing.
That day, I remembered Kael saying, “You look like a scarecrow.” Words that make me feel small, worthless, and used up.
But scarecrows don’t break. They wobble in strong winds, stand up to any storm, and protect fields for what matters. And they do it without complaining, praising, or anyone else’s approval.
Occasionally the best revenge is to not get angry or wreck things. It’s putting yourself back together until you’re a stranger to those who made you small. Everyone thinks you’re going to fall, but you’re going up. And it’s finding beauty in broken things and making art out of pain.
As I walked home to my babies that night, the cool breeze on my skin, I whispered to myself, “You were right, Kael.” I am a resilient individual. And no matter how strong the wind is, I’ll stand tall.
To all who read this and have been belittled by someone who promised to build you up: You are not their words. You are the person you aspire to be. And sometimes the breaker provides you just what you need to make you stronger than before.