I Left After My Husband’s Double Pregnancy Betrayal

The clinic receptionist had a kind face. Round cheeks, reading glasses on a beaded chain. I'd noticed her yesterday during my appointment, the way she smiled at every patient like they were the only person in the world.

"I'm so sorry to bother you," I said, leaning against the counter with what I hoped looked like casual concern. "I think my cousin might have left her scarf here yesterday? Kylee Gomez?"

The woman's face brightened. "Oh, Ms. Gomez! Yes, she was here yesterday afternoon. Such a sweet couple—her and her husband were so excited about the ultrasound." She rifled through a drawer. "I don't see a scarf, but let me check the back."

My throat closed. The fluorescent lights hummed overhead, too bright, too clinical. "Her husband. Tall? Dark hair?"

"That's him. Very attentive. Kept his hand on her back the whole time." She disappeared through a door marked STAFF ONLY.

I gripped the edge of the counter. The marble was cold and smooth under my palms. Behind me, a pregnant woman flipped through a magazine, oblivious. The waiting room still smelled like lavender, but now it made my stomach turn.

The receptionist returned empty-handed. "Sorry, no scarf. But I can call her if you'd like?"

"No need. I'll text her." I was already backing toward the exit. "Thank you."

Outside, the October air bit through my coat. I walked three blocks before my legs gave out. Sat on a bench in Madison Square Park and watched pigeons fight over a discarded bagel.

I pulled out my phone. Typed: *Lunch tomorrow? Miss you.*

Kylee's response came within seconds. *OMG yes! I've been so lonely lately. Noon at Balthazar?*

---

She was already seated when I arrived, tucked into a corner booth with her back to the wall. Strategic. She'd always been strategic.

"Miriam!" She stood, air-kissed both my cheeks. That vanilla sandalwood scent wrapped around me like smoke. "You look tired. Are you sleeping okay?"

"Fine." I slid into the booth across from her. "You?"

"Terrible, actually." She pressed her fingers to her temple, a practiced gesture. "My anxiety has been through the roof. I barely leave the apartment anymore. It's like the walls are closing in, you know?"

I ordered sparkling water. She ordered champagne.

"Should you be drinking?" The words slipped out before I could stop them.

Her eyes flickered. Just for a second. "Why wouldn't I?"

"No reason." I unfolded my napkin, smoothed it across my lap. That's when I saw it—the diamond tennis bracelet catching the light on her wrist. Platinum setting. Emerald cut stones. The same bracelet Wyatt had shown me last Christmas on his phone. *What do you think? For my mother.* Then later: *Lost the receipt. Can't return it.*

Kylee caught me staring. She twisted the bracelet, letting it catch the light. "Pretty, right? A gift from someone special."

"It's beautiful."

"Some people know how to appreciate quality." She sipped her champagne. "So what's new with you? Still playing house in that massive apartment?"

I kept my voice level. "Actually, I'm thinking about redecorating. The spare bedroom. Just in case."

Her smile sharpened. "In case of what?"

"You never know."

She leaned back, studying me over the rim of her glass. "Some people just aren't meant to be mothers, Miriam. It takes a certain... warmth. Maternal instinct. Not everyone has it."

The waiter appeared with our food. I watched Kylee cut her steak, each movement precise and deliberate. She'd always been good at performing. At playing whatever role the moment required.

"How's Wyatt?" she asked. "Still working those crazy hours?"

"You tell me."

Her knife paused mid-cut. "What?"

"Nothing. Just that you two have always been close."

"We're family." She popped a piece of meat into her mouth, chewed slowly. "That's what family does. We take care of each other."

I didn't touch my salad. Just watched her eat, watched her perform, watched her win.

---

The digital forensics expert worked out of a basement office in Brooklyn. No sign on the door, just a buzzer marked "3B."

"This is an iPad 2019," he said, turning Wyatt's old tablet over in his hands. "You said he factory reset it?"

"Last month."

"Doesn't matter. Nothing's ever really deleted." He plugged it into his computer. Lines of code scrolled across three monitors. "Give me forty-eight hours."

I gave him seventy-two. When I returned, he had a flash drive waiting.

"Seventeen thousand text messages," he said. "Going back six years. That's as far as the backup goes."

I read them in the guest bathroom again. The same bathroom where I'd discovered the blog. The same cold tile under my feet.

*She's so boring in bed. Like fucking a corpse.*

*Can't wait to feel you again. Real passion, not that frigid bullshit.*

*Once the assets are transferred to the joint account, I'll file. Two more months, Ky. I promise.*

And then, dated three weeks ago: *She's just the face for the public, Ky. You're my soul.*

I sat there until my legs went numb. Until the words blurred together. Until I couldn't feel anything at all.

Then I stood up, splashed cold water on my face, and started making calls.