The Scale That Exposed His Affair

After taking a shower, I stepped barefoot onto the smart scale at home.

A cheerful chime rang out. "Congratulations, Mia, you're in your second trimester. The baby weighs three pounds already!"

I froze. I was pregnant? How did I not know?

Heart pounding, I snatched up my phone and immediately called my husband. "What's going on with the scale at home? I'm pregnant?!"

There was a moment of silence on the other end before his familiar, gentle chuckle came through. "Mila, it's just a scale. The data must be wrong. Maybe you're just too sensitive since you haven't been able to get pregnant."

I hung up and connected the scale to Bluetooth. In the data log, I saw three months' worth of steadily increasing numbers.

Grabbing my car keys, I headed straight for Mia Lane's university.

The Truth Behind the Scale

Before confronting Mia Lane, I needed to confirm my suspicions. In the scale's app, I noticed a small heart symbol appearing every two weeks. I guessed it marked her prenatal checkups. Judging from the pattern, that day had to be the date.

I parked my car at the entrance of the private hospital.

The obstetrics corridor reeked of disinfectant. A few minutes later, a girl in a white cotton dress stepped out of the consultation room with her head bowed. Her long hair fell to her waist, her face bare of makeup, pure and innocent—the very image Noah Carter had always preferred.

The moment she looked up, I knew. It was Mia Lane—the destitute student my husband and I had been sponsoring.

Her eyes flickered with panic when she saw me, but she quickly masked it and stroked her belly with a timid smile. "Mila? What a coincidence. Are you here for a checkup too?"

"Yes, a prenatal checkup. My smart scale said I was pregnant, so I came to see if it was true." I didn't beat around the bush. "And you? Here for the same reason? From the looks of it, you must be four or five months along, right?"

"N-No!" She waved her hands frantically. "I… I just gained some weight. I'm only here for a routine physical. Yes, a physical!"

Her words tumbled out clumsily, full of holes. If it weren't for that cold, mechanical voice declaring "second trimester," I might have believed her.

My gaze dropped to her belly, which she clutched as though to hide it. She trembled, instinctively stepping back. I smiled and moved closer, my voice soft. "Don't be nervous. Plenty of women get pregnant before marriage—it's nothing to be ashamed of. If you're really expecting, just make sure the man marries you. Tell Noah to step up—see if he dares walk away."

Mia's face went ghostly pale. Her lips quivered before she turned and fled down the corridor. I didn't bother watching her run. Instead, I pulled out my phone. "Get me Mia Lane's medical report."

Less than ten minutes later, my phone buzzed. It was a message from my best friend, Lucia Sanderson—a photo of Mia's prenatal report. One glance told me the truth—second trimester. And listed in the emergency contact column was one unmistakable name: Noah Carter.

Lucia hesitated for a couple of seconds before her usual playful tone disappeared. "It's his?"

I shook my head with a bitter smile. "There's no proof yet…"

When I returned home, I hadn't even taken off my shoes before my phone lit up with a social media notification. Mia had just posted. A photo of her pregnant belly. The background was my living room couch—the one I had personally picked out. She wore my loungewear, leaned against the pillows I had bought, with the caption: 'Baby's new home. Love it here.'

The location tag? My newly renovated villa.

I forced myself to stay calm and rushed into Noah's study. Trusting my instincts, I searched the top shelf of the bookcase and found his old phone hidden in a false compartment. The lock screen was a photo of me, the password still my birthday.

The screen lit up, revealing a new account. The profile picture showed a hand—his hand—resting on a pregnant belly. On his ring finger gleamed the simple silver band I had designed for him ten years ago.

The contacts list held only one name: Mia Lane.

I opened their chat. The record of their love unfolded before my eyes. It hadn't been long—dating back only to when I'd been transferred out of town six months ago. The earliest message was from last Christmas, Mia writing, 'Noah, Merry Christmas. The gift I want to give you… is myself.'

Noah never replied to that one. However, I remembered that night well—he had claimed to be working late, not coming home until dawn.

The next few messages were harmless holiday greetings, but soon, the tone shifted into filth.

'Your waist is so soft.'

'You were incredible last night. You've bewitched me completely.'

Those sordid words churned my stomach. On our wedding anniversary, he had video-called me until midnight. Yet, right after hanging up, he had rushed to meet Mia, sneaking up a mountain with her to watch the sunrise.

Occasionally, Mia would put on a show of false concern. 'Mila won't be upset, will she?'

Noah's reply was cold and merciless. 'Don't bring her up when it's just us.'

Hands trembling, I opened the photo album on his secret account. It was filled with Mia. Photos of them kissing in the sunset. Maternity pictures. Their fantasies of a perfect little family of three.

I shook with rage, nearly crushing the phone in my hand. Just then, my own phone chimed. A picture of macarons appeared, followed by a call from Noah.

"Mila, are you home? I stood in line for half an hour on the north side of town to get your favorite macarons. I was just about to bring them over, but something urgent came up at work…"

A bitter laugh rose in my throat as my eyes drifted back to the old phone. On the screen was Mia's latest message to him. "Honey, I booked the hotel room. I'm waiting in my new lingerie."

I had no doubt those macarons would be arriving at her door soon enough.

Forcing my breath to steady, I answered evenly, "Alright. Go take care of work."