At 7 months pregnant, you don’t expect to be stalking your own sanity.
You expect baby names. Nursery paint. A husband who shows up.
Instead, I got a text: “Working late again tonight. Love you.”
So I put on a dress, took his corporate card, and went to dinner alone.
I walked into the restaurant… and found him already there.
Not with clients.
Not with coworkers.
With her.
And when he leaned in and kissed his secretary across the table, I didn’t cry.
I ordered the most expensive champagne in the building.
Because I already knew what I was going to write on the receipt.
Page 1 — The Moment The Lie Became A Scene
It was Le Lumière. The kind of place that whispers “money” without ever raising its voice.
White tablecloths. Crystal. Soft jazz.
The kind of place my husband loved because it made him look important.
As the hostess led me through the room, my eyes landed on a familiar navy suit.
Adrien.
My husband.
The father of the baby currently kicking my ribs.
He was laughing like he hadn’t laughed at home in months.
His wedding ring was off — sitting next to the bread basket like an inconvenience.
Across from him: Sabrina Ellis. His “promising talent.” His “mentee.” His secretary.
And then it happened.
She leaned forward.
He met her halfway.
And he kissed her like he had nothing to lose.
My phone buzzed on the table.
Same man. Same lie.
“Meeting running longer than expected. Don’t wait up. Love you.”
I watched him send it.
Then I watched him slide his hand right back into hers.
Read what I asked the manager to do next — and why it was the beginning of the end ⬇️⬇️⬇️
