Mistress Steals My Dreams

Three days passed in suffocating silence. Jayson left early, returned late, and when he was home, we moved around each other like strangers sharing space. I'd catch him texting in the bathroom, hear him whispering into his phone on the balcony after he thought I was asleep.

Then Sarah called.

"Maggie, honey, I don't know how to tell you this." My best friend's voice was tight with anger and pity—a combination that made my stomach clench. "Have you seen Aspen Moreno's Instagram?"

I hadn't. I'd been avoiding social media, afraid of what I might find. But Sarah's tone told me I couldn't hide anymore.

"Send me the link."

The photos loaded slowly, each pixel a fresh stab to my heart. Jayson and Aspen in a wicker basket, floating above rolling green hills. Her arms wrapped around his waist, both of them laughing at something only they shared. The golden hour light made them look like they belonged in a magazine spread about perfect love.

But it was the caption that shattered me completely: *"Sometimes dreams really do come true when you're with the right person. 🎈💕 #HotAirBalloon #DreamsComeTrue #PerfectDay"*

My phone slipped from trembling fingers, clattering onto the kitchen counter. The hot air balloon. My dream. The one I'd talked about since we were teenagers, saving magazine clippings of couples floating through sunrise skies. The dream I'd mentioned on our last three anniversaries, hoping he'd surprise me.

He'd given it to her instead.

I scrolled through the comments, each heart emoji and "so romantic!" from their mutual acquaintances feeling like salt in an open wound. People from his office, clients we'd entertained at dinner parties, even his cousin Lisa had liked the photos.

They all knew. While I'd been the devoted wife at home, everyone in his world was watching him play out my fantasy with another woman.

My hands shook as I called my doctor's office. The cramping had started that morning, sharp and insistent, and the spotting was getting worse.

"Mrs. Evans? We can see you at two-thirty today. It's important you come in right away given your symptoms."

Pregnant. I was pregnant, and something was wrong.

I sat in my car outside the medical building, phone pressed to my ear as Jayson's voicemail played for the third time. "Jay, it's me. I need you to meet me at Dr. Martinez's office. Something's wrong with the baby. Please call me back."

The procedure room was sterile and cold, the ultrasound machine humming ominously beside the examination table. Dr. Martinez's face was kind but serious as she explained the complications, the risks, the necessity of acting quickly.

"Is someone coming to drive you home?" she asked gently.

I checked my phone again. Nothing. "He'll be here."

But as they prepped me for the procedure, as I lay there in a hospital gown facing the loss of the child I'd barely had time to dream about, Jayson's chair remained empty.

Two hours later, groggy from sedation and hollow with grief, I finally saw him rushing down the hallway, his hair disheveled, his tie askew.

"Maggie, God, I'm so sorry. I came as soon as I could."

"Where were you?" My voice was hoarse from the anesthesia, but the pain in it was crystal clear.

He ran his hands through his hair—that nervous gesture I'd once found endearing. "Aspen's car broke down on Highway 85. She was stranded, and her phone was dead. I couldn't just leave her there."

The words hit me like physical blows. While I'd been losing our baby, while I'd faced the most frightening moment of my life alone, he'd been playing hero for his mistress.

"She was stranded," I repeated flatly.

"Yes, and—"

"And I was here. Having a medical emergency. Losing our baby." Each word felt like glass in my throat. "But she needed you more."

His face crumpled. "Maggie, no. It's not like that. I would never choose—"

"You already did." I turned away from him, staring at the stark white wall. "You chose her over our hot air balloon dream. You chose her over our anniversary. And today, you chose her over our child."

"That's not fair. I didn't know—"

"You didn't know because you don't answer your phone anymore. Not for me." I closed my eyes, exhaustion weighing me down like lead. "Take me home, Jayson. Just... take me home."

The drive was silent except for the sound of his phone buzzing repeatedly in his pocket. Each vibration felt like another nail in the coffin of our marriage. Even now, even after what we'd just been through, she was calling.

And the worst part? I could see in his eyes that he wanted to answer.