At seven months pregnant with twins, I was folding tiny onesies, imagining the beautiful family I was building with my husband, Eric. Every gentle kick from my babies filled me with joy. But that peaceful moment was interrupted by a sudden buzz from my phone.
When I saw the sender’s name—Veronica, my husband’s boss—I felt a pang of worry. My hands shook as I opened the message, fearing bad news about Eric. Instead, I was met with a shocking image: Eric, looking far too comfortable in a setting that made my stomach turn. The message below was a blunt revelation: “It’s time you knew.”
My world tilted. The onesies slipped from my fingers as I sank onto the couch, my heart racing. I dialed Eric’s number repeatedly, but every call went unanswered. The truth was undeniable—my husband had betrayed me with the very woman he worked for. A woman who, in many ways, seemed to have everything I didn’t: wealth, status, and unwavering confidence.
I placed a protective hand over my belly, whispering, “We’ll be okay. No matter what happens, I’ll protect you both.”
That evening, Eric arrived home, not alone but with Veronica by his side. She carried herself with a confidence that made it clear she had no regrets. Her gaze swept over my pregnant belly before she spoke.
“Eric, what’s going on?” I asked, my voice barely steady.
He avoided my eyes, sighing as if this was a minor inconvenience. “I’m leaving, Lauren. Veronica and I are together now. Let’s be adults about this.”
I gripped the edge of the sofa, trying to process his words. “We’re about to have twins, Eric. Our children.”
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