I was just about ready to return inside when I spotted Camden and Elise through a window.
They were tucked away in a quiet hallway.
I watched as Camden tenderly brushed his hand across Elise’s belly.
Then he leaned in and kissed her.
Not a friendly peck on the cheek, but a familiar, practiced kiss between lovers.
Elise pulled him closer, her body molding to his.
I might have been too blind to see the signs before then, but it was crystal clear to me now that my husband and my best friend were having an affair.
I stormed inside to confront them.
I burst into the hallway where I’d spotted them, my scream tearing from my chest, loud enough to stop the whole party.
“WHAT ARE YOU DOING?!”
They jumped apart.
Elise clutched her belly protectively and started crying.
“We were going to tell you. It just… happened. Camden’s the father.”
Everything after that was a blur of noise and white-hot agony.
I left.
Camden didn’t follow, and Elise didn’t apologize.
My marriage ended right there.
Two weeks later, Camden and Elise moved in together.
The fallout was predictable and swift.
Half of our old friends cut me off, half cut them off.
It was ugly.
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