After losing my baby, I found out my husband was my sister’s future baby’s father — karma surfaced for them not long after.

Ouadie Rhabbouron

“According to witnesses,” the reporter said, “the fire started around 2 a.m. Officials believe a cigarette may have been left burning in an upstairs bedroom. The two occupants, who have not been publicly identified, escaped with minor injuries, but one of them has been hospitalized due to complications.”

My phone rang. Rachel.

“Are you watching this?” she asked the second I answered.

“Yeah. Is that..?”

“It’s Delaney’s house. Mason was smoking in bed, apparently. The whole place went up.”

“Is she okay?”

An anxious woman talking on the phone | Source: Freepik

An anxious woman talking on the phone | Source: Freepik

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“Yeah. She and the baby are fine. But Oakley…” Rachel’s voice dropped. “She lost her house… and all her savings.”

I should’ve felt something. Grief, sympathy, horror. But I felt nothing. Just a strange, numb sense of justice.

“Are you still there?” Rachel asked.

“Yeah. I’m here.”

“I know this is awful to say, but… maybe this is karma.”

Maybe it was.

A woman talking on the phone | Source: Pexels

A woman talking on the phone | Source: Pexels

My parents called an hour later. They wanted to come over to make sure I was okay and to talk about everything that happened.

“We didn’t know, sweetheart,” my mother kept saying. “Delaney told us the father was some guy from work. We never would’ve supported this if we’d known.”

“It’s fine, Mom.”

“It’s not fine. What she did to you, what they both did… it’s unforgivable.”

I thought she might be right about that.

***

Over the next few weeks, I heard bits and pieces about Mason and Delaney through the family grapevine. They were staying at a motel. Mason’s credit cards were maxed out from trying to replace everything they’d lost. Delaney was devastated about everything and wouldn’t leave the motel room.

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I signed the divorce papers and mailed them back. I wanted it over. I wanted them out of my life completely.

A woman signing a divorce document | Source: Pexels

A woman signing a divorce document | Source: Pexels

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Then, six weeks after the fire, they showed up at my apartment, asking for help.

I’d moved out of the house. Couldn’t stand being there anymore, surrounded by ghosts of the life I’d thought we’d have. I’d found a small one-bedroom place across town and was slowly starting to rebuild.

When I opened the door and saw them standing there, I almost closed it in their faces.

Delaney looked terrible. Her hair was unwashed and tangled. Her clothes were wrinkled. She looked exhausted, her face gaunt and hollow.

A sad woman with her eyes downcast | Source: Midjourney

A sad woman with her eyes downcast | Source: Midjourney

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Mason looked worse. He’d aged 10 years in six weeks. His eyes were bloodshot, his hands shaking.

“Oakley,” Delaney said. Her voice was small and broken. “Can we talk?”

“Why?”

“We want to apologize. Really apologize. We know we hurt you.”

“You think?” I crossed my arms. “What do you want, Delaney? Forgiveness? Absolution? What?”

A woman with her arms crossed | Source: Freepik

A woman with her arms crossed | Source: Freepik

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“I just…” She started crying. “I just want you to know I’m sorry. What we did was wrong. The fire, losing my house, losing everything… maybe it’s what we deserved.”

“It was,” I said flatly.

Mason flinched. “Oakley, please. We messed up. We know that. But we’re family. We’re still…”

“We’re NOT anything,” I cut him off. “You made your choices. You both did. And karma has already punished you harder than I ever could.”

A devastated man | Source: Freepik

A devastated man | Source: Freepik

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