At six months pregnant, I joined a moms’ group chat to learn parenting tips from other mothers, and one of them couldn’t resist showing off. "I’m so jealous of you guys, getting to cuddle your babies all day. Not like me—I'm handing mine off to a free nanny right after giving birth!"

'Free nanny? Since when are nannies free?'

I tapped on her profile picture—and the sight of that hand draped over her shoulder made cold sweat run down my back.

The

I stared at the profile photo of the mom named Ysabel, and thought she looked oddly familiar.

She was still bragging in the chat, saying, "She's my son's free nanny. I'll let her raise him after giving birth—pretending they're twins. This way, I can focus on my career. A woman's place isn't at home; a career is what truly matters! I've invested too much in conceiving alone. Only useless women become full-time moms!"

Many in the chat agreed with her, though a few questioned her claims, and she snapped right back at them. I alone sat frozen, staring at her background photo with unease prickling through me. The picture was taken in my neighborhood, and the ring on that hand around her waist was identical to my husband Scott Camden's.

What terrified me more was the memory of my doctor telling me I was pregnant with twins. Yet my belly didn't look nearly big enough for two.

A dozen suspicions clawed their way into my head, so I rushed to another hospital for a checkup, and the results confirmed it—I was carrying only one baby. The moment I saw the report, my mind went blank.

Then, within minutes, a wave of rage and despair crashed over me. That was when I realized Scott had been lying to me all along. My vision blurred; I almost collapsed right there, and a passerby hurried me to the ER.

By the time Scott arrived, panic was written all over his face. "Honey, are you okay? What are you doing here today? Did you get another checkup?"

I took a moment to steady myself, but the smell of perfume clinging to him hit me hard. My stomach turned, and before I could stop myself, I threw up all over his shirt. Scott turned grim instantly. Without a word, he rushed to clean up.

Once the nausea passed, I finally felt a bit better and muttered, "Sorry. The perfume on you was too strong."

He frowned. "It must've rubbed off from a client. I rushed here to see you and didn't have time to change. By the way, honey, what brought you to this hospital?"

"I was just passing by. I wanted to stop at the bakery ahead, but I started feeling sick on the way."

Scott let out a sigh of relief, saying something about how there were people he knew at my regular hospital, and insisted on having me transferred.

Only after confirming I was fine did he calm down. "Honey, you're carrying twins—you really have to be careful. Don't go out alone next time."

His concern was so earnest that even the doctor nearby remarked, "Your husband's really good to you."

"Of course he is. I married him and am carrying his progeny—if he doesn't treat me right, that'll be ungrateful of him, won't it?"

The doctor's face turned awkward, and Scott's expression darkened again.

I smiled faintly at him. "I'm just teasing. You know I appreciate how good you are to me—it's not just because I'm pregnant."

Only then did his shoulders ease. "You always understand me best, honey."

Just then, his phone buzzed. He glanced at the screen and said, "It's from the office."

"Go on—answer it. Don't let me hold you up."

But I'd already seen the name flashing on the screen: Bella-Boo. He wasn't even trying to hide it anymore.

I sneered inwardly and turned away, pretending not to notice. After the doctor finished giving me some instructions, he stepped out—but I saw it. He tilted his head slightly toward Scott before leaving, and Scott followed him out.

At the far end of the corridor, inside the emergency stairwell, Scott lit a cigarette.

"Scott, are you really set on this?" the doctor asked quietly. "She's pitiful, you know. Raising two kids alone—she won't be able to handle it. Your parents aren't coming to help, and she's got no one to lean on. You're taking this too far."

The Truth Beneath the Perfume

Then came Scott's familiar voice. "What else can I do? Ysabel doesn't want to be a housewife, and Colette's job doesn't really matter. She might as well quit and stay home. Taking care of one or two kids makes no difference anyway. Just don't let anything slip, alright? The company I'm working for has business with your department—you won't lose out on this."

The two of them smoked for a long time, their voices fading into clouds of gray. I stood hidden nearby, nausea rising in my throat as my stomach churned violently. The baby must've sensed my distress—it started kicking, restless and uneasy.

Clutching my belly, I staggered step by step back to the hospital room, trembling with fury and panic. Pain began to stab through my abdomen as I thought, 'Scott Camden, your little plan just backfired. I won't carry your child anymore!'

…

On the way home, my mind wouldn't stop spinning. 'If Scott plans to give me that woman's baby to raise, then Ysabel must be close by, and our due dates must be near each other—otherwise, there's no way he could pull this off.'

The thought made my blood run cold. I wrapped my arms around my belly. The baby seemed to sense my heartbreak; it shifted gently inside me, tiny fists pushing against my skin in soft, rhythmic bumps.

Once, that would have filled me with joy—I would have talked to the baby, smiling through tears. But now, all I could think about was how to make Scott pay for what he'd done. I didn't even want this child anymore.

My hand rested over my belly as a storm of conflict raged inside me.

I'd known Scott for six years. When we first met, we were both fresh out of college, rookies just finding our way. Our companies were in the same building, and we saw each other often on the elevator, though we never spoke.

One night, I stayed late at work—it was past nine by the time I finished. By chance, Scott had also worked overtime, and we ended up in the same elevator. Suddenly, the elevator malfunctioned.

Terrified, I clutched his hand in panic. Scott stayed calm, called for help, and tried to comfort me while we waited for rescue.

Afterward, when it was all over, I saw the scratch marks I'd left on his hand and offered to buy him dinner to make it up to him. One thing led to another, and soon we were in love.

I'd thought our marriage had a solid foundation—that Scott was dependable and responsible. He had always been attentive, thoughtful, gentle. I never imagined that behind that facade, he'd been keeping another woman.

Dizzy and numb, I opened Ysabel's profile again and followed the trail through her Facebook page. She wasn't exactly cautious—everything was linked: her WhatsApp, her other social media accounts, all synced and open for anyone to see.

I went through all of it. By the time I finished, I felt sick to my stomach. They'd been together for two years—two years ago, when Scott and I had been trying for a baby.

How could he? How could he be tenderly entwined with another woman while pretending to build a family with me? He'd even lied about his work schedule—told me he worked six days a week when he actually had weekends off, spending every spare moment wrapped up with her.

The more I read, the deader my heart felt. What I'd thought was love returned was just my own delusion.

At that, I pulled out my phone and dialed a number.

'Scott Camden, you made this mess yourself. And I hope, someday soon, you regret it as much as I do.'

…

When I returned to the hospital room, Scott had composed himself. He was holding a thermos in his hands. "Honey, I made some chicken soup for you. Come have a taste."

He opened the lid. The soup shimmered with a slick of yellow oil and floating bits of parsley. Love fades, I thought bitterly, even in the small things—he'd forgotten I hated parsley.

My stomach turned violently.

I tossed the spoon aside and snapped, "I don't eat parsley! Did you forget? You clearly don't care about me anymore! Scott, you've changed. You're seeing someone else, aren't you? Don't lie to me—you said that perfume was from a client, but that was a lie, wasn't it?"

A Wife's Revenge Begins

My sudden outburst left him looking grim.

I burst into tears, sobbing and shouting, until the doctor rushed in. Seeing the scene, he wiped sweat from his forehead. "Scott, just give in to her a little. It's the hormones—her emotions matter a lot right now! If she gets too worked up, it'll affect the baby."

Scott panicked instantly. "I'm sorry, honey, it's all on me. It completely slipped my mind. I'll redo the soup right now. I promise you—there's no one else but you."

Seeing how earnest he was, I decided to let it slide—for now. But I refused to let him leave my side.

I didn't believe for a second that Ysabel could hold out not seeing him.

…

I stayed in the hospital for three days under observation, and during that time, I made sure to keep Scott on edge. By the third day, the dark circles under his eyes looked like bruises, and the red veins in them told me he hadn't slept much.

He did everything I asked without complaint, and not once did his phone ring. That was fine by me.

…

Once I was discharged, we went home. Scott showered and changed before saying, "I need to run to the office. Call me if you need anything."

I smiled obediently. "Go ahead. I'm sure work's been piling up these past few days."

"Yeah. I might have to work late tonight. I ordered dinner for you."

"Got it."

I watched him hurry out the door, and the moment he disappeared, I followed.

Three days apart—Ysabel Eldridge must have been dying to see him.

Sure enough, Scott didn't even take the car—he ran straight to the building three blocks behind ours. I took a breath and noted the floor where the elevator stopped, a cold smile spreading across my face.

'No wonder I never noticed anything—turns out the two of them were right under my nose. Scott Camden, you really thought this through.'

Pulling out my phone, I sent off a message and went home to start packing.

The house was full of baby items—two of everything. Looking closely, I finally noticed something strange. Though they were meant to be identical, the quality wasn't the same at all. Even the twin strollers had differences—one had a softer cushion.

I almost laughed from sheer disbelief. 'You couldn't even bother to hide your favoritism, huh, Camden? Did you really think I wouldn't notice?'

I gathered up everything of higher quality and called for a courier to ship them away. Then I packed my personal belongings. I also asked my lawyer to draft a divorce agreement and placed it neatly on the nightstand, along with the ultrasound report from my last checkup.

Just then, Ysabel posted in the group chat again. 'My husband's finally back after three days away. Missed him so much! He went straight to the kitchen to cook for me!'

The chat immediately filled with jealous replies, but I refused to entertain her bragging. 'Careful, sweetheart. When a man's got two homes, it's easy to walk into the wrong one. Make sure he remembers which door's yours.'

Ysabel exploded. 'What are you talking about?!'

Others jumped in to defend her.

'You're just jealous!'

'Your husband never showed his face in your photos—no wonder you can't stand seeing someone happy!'

'You're a mom now, try to be a little sunnier!'

Seeing that most of them sided with her, Ysabel grew smug and started insinuating. 'Don't be too harsh on her, everyone. Not everyone's lucky enough to find such a good husband. I'm used to it!'

I laughed out loud. 'Ysabel Eldridge, tell Scott Camden to divorce me before you flaunt your happiness again. Did you really think I'd raise your child for free? Dream on!'

The group chat exploded instantly.

I dropped a series of photos—the private investigator's evidence, followed by a picture of my marriage certificate—and left the group without hesitation.

Before walking out the door, I sent Scott a message on WhatsApp. 'How's the food over at your lover's, Scott? We're getting a divorce!'