Chuck's beloved ex, Ella, got divorced and showed up with her two-year-old daughter.

Without asking me, he let Ella and her kid move into our home.

Then Ella posted a photo of Chuck holding the child, captioned:

[My husband cheated, so I filed for divorce, gave my baby a new dad, and found myself a new husband.]

The comments were full of praise:

[Real-life boss woman drama!]

I had to laugh—so being a homewrecker is what counts as a strong woman now?

Chuck didn't see a problem. He even told the child to call me "Momma."

"Ella's husband cheated on her. She's raising a kid alone. As a woman, can't you have a little empathy? I'm just helping her out."

Well, I had no empathy to give—not for the mistress, and definitely not for the scumbag.

Chuck Fedor and I had been married three years—no kids. The day I found out I was pregnant, I prepared perfectly: decorations, balloons, the whole deal, waiting to surprise him.

He ghosted me all night.

I kept texting. He kept saying, "Babe, just wait. I've got a surprise too."

Something felt off. When I finally heard the door, I bolted.

Chuck walked in holding a little girl. A woman stood next to him.

He went full dead-serious mode. "Babe, this is Ella Vator. And her daughter, Lucy. She's cool with Lucy calling you godmother—Momma."

Then he actually turned to the kid. "Go on, say 'Momma.'"

Lucy just stared up at me with those big, blinking eyes.

I laughed—cold and sharp. "Yeah, no. Not interested in playing stepmom."

Chuck's face dropped. "Who said anything about stepmom? Just godmother. You can't even have kids. Ella's being nice here."

I was still holding the pregnancy test in my hand. That surprise? Dead on arrival. I'd barely had time to enjoy the thought before I knew I was going to lose this baby.

I stared them down. Chuck with Lucy in one arm, Ella's hand in the other. Perfect little family. Just not mine.

Ella, all tiny and trembling, peeked out from behind him like I was about to breathe fire. She tugged his sleeve. "Chuck, if your wife's not okay with it, forget it."

Chuck gave me this icy stare, then turned to Ella, all soft. "It's fine. I'll take you and Lucy home."

Lucy clung to his neck, grinning at me like she'd won. "Yay! Daddy's taking us home!"

***

Chuck didn't come back till almost midnight. I dumped the dinner and cake I'd made straight into the trash.

When he walked in and saw the empty table, his voice was sharp. "Diana, where's the food?"

I didn't even blink. "You didn't eat? I tossed it."

Back then, I'd wait up and reheat dinner no matter how late. Not anymore.

He rubbed his forehead. "Babe, stop being petty. Ella's been through hell—cheating ex, divorce, raising Lucy solo. I brought them here so we could help. What's the big deal with her calling you Momma? You're scared of giving birth anyway. This is perfect."

He touched my stomach, leaned in close, breath warm against my ear. "All four of us together—it'd be so lively."

Four?

What, does he think he can have the cake and eat it? How shameless.

I shoved his hand off me. No way I was letting him touch me—especially not now.

"If you wanna play stepdad, be my guest. But I'm not signing up to be your the tolerant wife. And she's not moving in like some side chick with benefits."

Chuck's face darkened. "Diana Drew, can't you talk like a decent human being? Women should lift each other up. You're a woman too—why make life harder for her? I'm just trying to help. Ever heard of compassion?"

I almost laughed. Three years by his side, helping him build from nothing. And the second I finally got pregnant, he pulled this stunt—marched in with his ex and her kid like he was doing some noble act, then acted like I was the problem.

Then he flipped into command mode. "Tomorrow, set up a room for Ella and Lucy. Actually, make it two."

I smiled. "Why bother? I'll just move out. Let your little family shack up together. Saves space."

The room went dead quiet. He shot me a look that could kill and stormed out.

***

The next morning, while I was stuck in the hospital waiting for the abortion surgery, I scrolled through my phone to kill time—and boom. Ella had just posted.

It was a pic from behind: Chuck holding Lucy.

The caption?

[What do you do when your husband cheats? Divorce him! Get a new man and your kid a new dad.]

We had a bunch of mutuals. The comments were already popping.

[Congrats on escaping misery and starting fresh!]

[Omg Ella's living a rom-com. How'd you score a hot CEO?]

Chuck—handsome, rich, CEO of a public company. Everyone knew who he was.

Ella was eating it up.

[Because I'm young and cute? Lol. Actually, he loves me.]

[Don't be jelly—you'll find your prince too!]

I just sat there, staring. The bitterness didn't even sting—it was almost funny.

So I dropped my own little truth bomb:

[What a coincidence—same husband.]

[Your man looks just like the guy on my wedding photos.]

Instant chaos.

Group chats blew up. Everyone was suddenly debating who the real side chick was—me or her.

I posted a photo of our marriage certificate, followed by our wedding pics. Not that many people even knew we were married. We'd kept it quiet.

Chuck had told me, "Babe, we love each other. Weddings are just for show."

Right. Real convenient.

When Chuck saw my post, he called me, fuming. "Take that down.

"You need to get in the group and clear Ella's name. Don't you get this could ruin her? You're heartless—karma's coming for you!"

I felt nothing. Just empty. "Why should I delete it?"

Right then, the doctor came in. "Are you sure?"

Earlier, I'd wavered. But now?

"Yes."

They postponed the procedure—it was still too early. Told me to rest a few days first.

When I got home, Chuck was on the couch, legs crossed, bored out of his mind. His eyes went cold the second he saw me.

"Diana, this is your last chance. Post an apology saying Ella's not the mistress. Then message her. Beg, until she forgives you."

I gave him a smile. "Everything I said was true. What exactly am I apologizing for?"

He snapped. "You hurt her! She's a single mom—and my ex. I'm just helping her out. What's so wrong about that? She's even letting Lucy call you Momma, and you're acting like some petty shrew."

Hearing him say that out loud actually made my chest tighten.

Before we got married, he wouldn't shut up about how sweet and gentle I was—how I had the kindest heart.

And now? Three years later, I was just a petty shrew to him.

I wanted to cry. Not because I still loved him.

I wanted to cry because I'd wasted three whole years on this man.

I refused to apologize, so Chuck grabbed my arm and dragged me to the car.

I hadn't eaten all day. After the hospital tests, it was already late afternoon. His grip was tight—I couldn't shake him off. I ended up going with him.

When we pulled up, it wasn't just Ella waiting. He'd invited a whole squad—his buddies, her besties. A full ambush.

The second I walked in, they came for me.

Randy gave me this disapproving look. "Diana, no offense, but you're being unreasonable.

"Chuck's just helping his ex out. She's a single mom. And now you're bullying her and her kid? You're a woman—you should get it.

"Do I seriously have to spell this out as a man?"

Funny. Same guy who'd commented under Ella's post, [Congrats! Wishing you a happy life together.]

The more they talked, the more suffocated I felt.

Then Ella's friend Poppy jumped in. "Yeah, Diana, try stepping into Ella's shoes. You wouldn't get how painful this is unless it happened to you."

I snapped. "Great idea. Why don't you take her home and share your man with her? That way she won't have to deal with me. Let your husband foot the bill instead."

Poppy's face twisted. "That's different. Chuck's rich. He can afford to help Ella."

The shamelessness was unreal.

Chuck, sensing the blow-up coming, tried to play peacemaker. "Come on, just have a drink. Say sorry and let's end this. No need for drama."

I was pregnant. I couldn't drink. I shook my head.

His expression iced over. His eyes locked on me, dark and unrelenting. "Drink it. Apologize to Ella."

He shoved the glass at my mouth. I slapped it away.

"I can't drink!"

The glass hit the floor and shattered.

His face hardened. Voice like a blade. "I'll say it one more time. Drink. Then apologize."

I opened my mouth to explain, but he grabbed my chin and forced the bottle to my lips. I tried to pull back—he didn't let go.

I gagged as the liquor scorched my throat. My stomach felt like it exploded.

My face flushed hot.

Chuck sneered. "Wow, didn't know you could drink like that. Drop the act—I've seen you throw 'em back before."

He wasn't wrong. I used to drink for him at work dinners. Took shots for him. Got clients drunk for him. Ruined my health for him.

Back then, I was his lucky star. Now, not drinking made me fake.

My hands were shaking. I felt sick.

They kept yelling. I turned to leave.

Chuck yanked me back and shoved me onto the couch. My stomach slammed into the sharp edge of the table.

The pain hit hard—blinding and instant. My head spun. My stomach throbbed. I couldn't move.

Chuck barked, "Get up! Stop faking! Say sorry!"

He grabbed me again, dragging me upright.

Then I saw it—the blood on the floor.

Everything went black.

Somewhere in the blur, I heard someone scoff, "What a drama queen... seriously?"

Then someone gasped. "Is she dying? There's so much blood!"