3
I never knew it was possible to feel so disgusted by someone that it could make you physically sick.
Doubling over, I barely made it to the trash can before I started vomiting uncontrollably.
Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Sofia and Evan walking in my direction, laughing as they talked. Panicked, I ducked behind the trash can,
crouching low to avoid being seen.
“I don’t know how you’re so sure it’s a boy, Sofia said in a playful, teasing tone. “What if it’s a girl?”
Evan chuckled softly. “Then I’ll love her too. A little girl who’s sweet, gentle, and as beautiful as her mom? I’d be the luckiest man alive.”
Sofia giggled, her laugh high–pitched and flirtatious. “You’re such a charmer. But… I’m scared, Evan. What if, once her baby is born, you don’t have time for me and our little one anymore?”
Evan’s voice was calm, reassuring. “Don’t worry. I’ve already thought it all through. Tomorrow, Mason will help you move to the house in
Seaside.
““From now on, I’ll tell her I’m traveling for work. That’ll give me at least two weeks every month to be with you.”
Sofia squealed with excitement, and the two of them climbed into his car, laughing and chatting like they didn’t have a care in the world.
I stayed crouched behind the trash can long after they left, trembling as tears blurred my vision.
The crumpled ultrasound report I’d been clutching in my hand was now a mess of smudged ink and torn paper. I stared at it, suddenly thankful that I’d decided to come to the hospital alone today–thinking I’d been “saving Evan the trouble” because of how hard he’d been working recently.
If I hadn’t… I would’ve never seen this with my own eyes. I would’ve kept living like an idiot, oblivious to the betrayal right in front of me.
But Evan… if you love her so much, why did you beg me to stay? Why didn’t you just divorce me?
I didn’t get home until late that night.
By then, Evan had called me dozens of times, but I ignored every single one.
The moment I walked through the door, he rushed over and pulled me into a tight hug, his face full of worry.
“Hannah! Where were you? I’ve been going crazy looking for you!”
“I went to the hospital,” I said flatly.
Evan froze, his expression shifting to one of nervousness. He glanced at me, choosing his words carefully. “What time did you go? Which hospital? Why didn’t you call me?”
“The General Hospital,” I replied. “You’ve been so busy lately, I didn’t want to bother you.”
2:28 PM
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He visibly relaxed, letting out a small sigh of relief. They’d gone to the women’s health clinic.
“How did it go? What did the doctor say?” he asked, his voice filled with concern. “You… don’t look too good. Is everything okay?”
I hesitated for a moment, then said, “The doctor said… there’s a chance I might lose the baby.”
I watched his face closely as I spoke, searching for any trace of genuine emotion.
Evan looked surprised but not devastated. He quickly pulled me into his arms and whispered, “It’s okay, baby. You’re the only one that matters
to me.”
His words made me feel like my heart was being ripped apart. I wanted to scream, to slap him, to make him feel even a fraction of the pain! was feeling.
It was clear he didn’t care about this baby at all. Why would he, when he already had another child on the way–one he was excited for, one he actually wanted?
I couldn’t keep up the act any longer. Pushing him away, I muttered something about being tired and locked myself in the bedroom.
Later that evening, Evan knocked on the door, calling me out for dinner.
I couldn’t stand to see his face, so I pretended to be asleep.
Not long after, I heard him step out of the room. A few minutes later, his phone rang, and he quickly left the house.
The second the door closed, I got up, grabbed my keys, and followed him.
I tailed him to a flower shop, where he bought a bouquet of roses. Then he stopped by a mall to pick up a designer handbag, followed by a bakery where he grabbed a box of desserts.
Finally, he drove to his destination–our home.
Our marital home.
I gripped the steering wheel so tightly that my knuckles turned white. My chest felt tight, my stomach churned, and I thought I was going to be sick again.
Never in my worst nightmares did I imagine he would let her live in the house we built together.
This wasn’t just any house. It was the first home we ever shared. The one I bought with the money I earned from selling my parents‘ old home and working endless nights on freelance projects.
I’d gifted it to him as a wedding present–a symbol of our love, a foundation for our future.
Even after he became successful–after he bought bigger, fancier properties–this house remained untouched. He always said it was special, a testament to our love and the sacrifices we’d made for each other.
And now, he’d brought her here. The woman carrying his child. He let her trample over everything that house represented. Over me.
That night, I didn’t go inside.
I sat in my car, parked in front of the house, and watched. Watched as the lights turned on and off. As they laughed and moved around inside. As they made themselves at home.
It felt like I was punishing myself for being so blind, for believing in him for so long.
I told myself that by staying here, facing this brutal reality, I could finally break free.
The next morning, just as the sun was rising, Evan stepped out of the house looking refreshed and happy.
Sofia was right behind him, practically glowing as she followed him to his car.
She stood on her tiptoes to adjust his tie, her voice soft and affectionate as she spoke to him. He leaned forward slightly, smiling at her, his
2:28 PM.
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