I was seven months pregnant with twins when my world turned upside down. I was at home, quietly folding tiny baby clothes, imagining names and nursery themes, when my phone buzzed.
The message was from my husband Eric’s boss, Veronica. My heart sank. At first, I feared something had happened to Eric. But the truth was far worse.
The message opened to a photo of Eric—clearly not alone. Beneath it was a message that read, “It’s time you knew. He’s mine.”
I stared in disbelief, my hands shaking. I tried calling Eric, but every call went straight to voicemail. The only thing I could do was breathe and try to stay calm—for the babies’ sake.
That evening, Eric came home—with Veronica beside him. She walked in confidently, as if she belonged there.
“What’s going on?” I asked, trying to stay composed.
Eric didn’t hesitate. “I’m with Veronica now. I’m moving out. Let’s be adults about this.”
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