My CEO Husband Cheated with His Fertile Assistant

After five years of trying, I finally got pregnant.

I was about to share the exciting news with my husband when I stumbled upon a social media post from his new assistant, Veronica Walker.

She had uploaded a live photo with the caption, "Don't we look perfect together?"

In the picture, Weston was smiling warmly at the camera, while she donned the custom Victorian-style dress I had specially ordered from England, holding his hand.

Veronica playfully asked him, "What if your wife sees me in this dress?"

He chuckled, "She's past her prime; it'd be wasted on her."

I hesitated for a moment, then commented graciously, "A perfect match."

I muted my phone, turned around, and went back to the hospital to arrange an abortion.

***

"Mrs. Bryant, haven't you always wanted a child? Why the sudden decision to terminate the pregnancy?"

The doctor looked at me in surprise, holding the appointment slip.

Automatically, my hand went to my stomach.

This year marks ten years since my marriage to Weston. We became a couple back in college, started a business together, and eventually got married.

In our friends’ eyes, we were always the ideal couple.

Until I saw that post, I believed we always would be.

He supported my career and never pushed me to have children.

Yet I noticed, every time he passed by a child, he'd get that wistful look.

But he has infertility issues, and to spare his feelings, I pursued countless options.

In the past five years, I’ve lost count of the fertility treatments, or the endless bitter herbal teas I secretly drank when he wasn’t watching.

The hormonal treatments added inches to my waist and drained the color from my face.

But finally, I became pregnant with our child.

I thought this was a shared journey, only to be met with his remark about me being past my prime.

His thoughtless comment cut into my heart like a dull knife, leaving it in tatters over time.

That scoffing laugh crushed my efforts of the past five years.

His betrayal hurt far more than any of the side effects from the hormones.

Noticing my silence, the doctor cautiously said, "Is there something you’re worried about? Maybe talk it over with your family first."

But my husband was busy cozying up with his new assistant.

I shook my head with a forced smile and firmly replied, "The problem lies with my husband. I can't keep this child. Please proceed with terminating the pregnancy."

Seeing my resolve, the doctor said no more and promptly scheduled the procedure.

The embryo hadn't yet formed, and the operation was quick; I felt no physical pain, just a profound emptiness.

After leaving the hospital, I looked at my phone.

Veronica's post had vanished, replaced by a brief note from Weston: "Company’s having an end-of-year party tonight. Don’t wait up."

It wasn't until just past five the next morning that Weston finally came home, smelling of alcohol. He stepped inside to find me sitting in the living room.

I looked up at him, catching his surprise that I was already awake. He instinctively tugged at his shirt collar, though his tie was nowhere to be seen.

A fleeting look of discomfort crossed his face before he busied himself rifling through his pockets, his voice raspy, "Why are you up so early? Just sit tight, let me shower, and I'll fix us some breakfast."

As he headed to the bathroom, he turned back, as if suddenly remembering something, "Veronica didn’t have the right dress, so I lent her the one you ordered. I'll get you a new one."

"She’s just a small-town girl, not very worldly. Go easy on her."