My Husband Cheated 3 Weeks Postpartum Because Witnessing Birth “Traumatized” Him. He Sells Surgical Equipment For A Living. How Should I Handle His Big Presentation Tomorrow

The Setup

The morning of the presentation, Blake was nervous but confident. He didn’t know I’d called his boss’s wife, Jenny, who’d also had a traumatic birth experience. I told her everything Blake had said about my delivery, about how disgusted he was, about cheating because of what he saw.

Jenny was horrified. She’d been in the audience for previous presentations and knew they sometimes asked personal questions. She had an idea.

During the Q&A after Blake’s flawless demonstration, Jenny stood up.

“Mr. Blake, you spoke beautifully about respecting the birth process,” she said. “Can you share any personal experience with childbirth that informs your perspective?”

Blake froze. 200 people were staring at him. His face goes white. Every single person in that auditorium turns to look at him, waiting for his answer about his personal experience with childbirth.

I’m watching the live stream from home with our daughter on my lap, and I can see the exact moment he realizes he’s trapped. His mouth opens but nothing comes out. The surgical lights make the sweat on his forehead shine like he just ran a marathon. 200 potential buyers sit in silence. The executives lean forward in their chairs.

Blake’s hands grip the podium so hard his knuckles turn pale. He finally stammers something about respecting patient privacy. His voice cracks on the word “privacy.”

The Public Humiliation

Jenny doesn’t let him off that easily. She stands up fully, straightening her jacket, and says her husband works for the company too. She’s curious how Blake reconciles his beautiful speech about the miracle of birth with his actual feelings about the process. The way she says “actual” makes several people in the front row exchange glances.

Blake’s face somehow gets even whiter. He tries to laugh it off, but the sound comes out strangled. Blake’s boss leans forward in the front row. His expression shifts from polite interest to intense focus. Ramon is sitting three seats away with a slight smile on his face. He crosses his arms and settles back in his chair like he’s about to watch his favorite show.

The 200 potential buyers are completely silent. Nobody coughs. Nobody shifts in their seats. The only sound in that massive auditorium is the hum of the video equipment. Blake looks at his boss, then at Ramon, then back at Jenny. He’s searching for an exit that doesn’t exist.

Blake tries to deflect by talking about professional boundaries. His voice is shaking now. Sweat is visible on his forehead even through the live stream. The camera operator zooms in slightly, probably thinking this is interesting drama.

Jenny asks if he has children. Blake has to admit yes, a four-month-old daughter. The words come out quiet. Several audience members lean forward to hear better. Jenny nods slowly like she’s a lawyer who just got the answer she wanted.

She asks how old the baby is again, making him repeat it.

“Four months,” he says. The number hangs in the air.

She asks if he was present for the birth. Blake nods. He doesn’t trust his voice anymore. Jenny delivers the killing blow by asking how that experience shaped his respect for the female body and the birth process. She says he spoke so movingly about it in his presentation; she wants to know what personal insights informed those beautiful words.

Blake’s mouth opens and closes. Opens and closes. He looks exactly like a fish drowning in air. The silence stretches so long it becomes painful to watch. Someone in the back row coughs. Blake flinches at the sound.

He can’t say what he really thinks without destroying himself. But he also can’t fake enthusiasm convincingly after being put on the spot like this. His brain is clearly scrambling for something, anything to say.

He finally mumbles something generic about it being educational. The word “educational” lands like a dead fish on the floor. It’s the worst possible answer. Too clinical, too distant, too obviously fake.

The Aftermath

After his passionate presentation speech, he tries to move to the next question, gesturing at someone in the back row. But the damage is already spreading through that audience like blood and water. His boss’s expression has shifted from interested to concerned. The man’s eyebrows pull together. He glances at his wife Jenny, then back at Blake.

Several audience members are whispering to each other behind their hands. A woman in the third row leans over to her colleague and says something that makes him shake his head. Ramon is openly smirking now. He’s not even trying to hide it.

Blake’s carefully constructed professional image just developed visible cracks. The presentation was flawless. The demonstration was perfect. But this moment, this single moment of truth, is unraveling everything. I can see it happening in real time through the screen. Blake sees it too. His eyes are wide with panic.

The presentation ends awkwardly. Blake rushes through the last few slides without his earlier confidence. His voice stays shaky. He forgets to thank the surgical team. He stumbles over the company name. When he finishes, the applause is polite but scattered—nothing like the enthusiastic response Ramon got at the last presentation.

Blake practically runs off stage. The camera follows him for a moment before cutting to the company logo. I watch the live stream end and sit there with our daughter sleeping against my chest. My heart is pounding, but my hands are steady.

Jenny catches my call 20 minutes later. She sounds satisfied in a grim way. Her voice has an edge of justice to it. She says his boss pulled him aside immediately after. The whispers in the audience were brutal. She overheard two potential buyers talking about how uncomfortable that exchange was. One of them said Blake seemed like he was hiding something. Another said the disconnect between his presentation words and his actual response was concerning.

Jenny says Ramon swooped in during the networking session and smoothly answered questions Blake should have handled. He made Blake look even worse by comparison. The boss kept glancing at Blake with this disappointed expression. Jenny says she’s never seen someone’s professional reputation crack that fast.

Blake comes home three hours later looking destroyed. His tie is loose around his neck. His jacket is wrinkled. His eyes are red like he’s been rubbing them. He doesn’t know I orchestrated anything, so he rants about some crazy woman who ambushed him with personal questions. He paces around the living room, gesturing wildly with his hands.

I nod sympathetically while feeding our daughter, asking what he said in response. My voice is calm, concerned—exactly what a supportive wife would sound like. Blake runs his hands through his hair and admits he froze up. He gave terrible answers.

“The boss told him the presentation content was perfect but his Q&A performance raised concerns about his ability to handle pressure,” he said. Those were the exact words: “Concerns about his ability to handle pressure.”

Blake repeats them twice like he still can’t believe it. Ramon apparently stepped in smoothly and answered follow-up questions. He was charming and confident and everything Blake wasn’t in that moment. Blake sinks onto the couch and puts his head in his hands. He says he doesn’t understand why that woman targeted him. What did she want from him? Why did she push so hard about his personal experience?

I make a sympathetic sound and suggest maybe she was just curious. Blake shakes his head. He says it felt personal. It felt like she knew something.