My Husband Cheated While I Was Pregnant

"Mr. Royce covered the full week, ma'am."

The morning clerk smiled at me like I'd won something.

"A week?" I gripped my suitcase handle. "He said one night."

"He called down at six. Said you might need time." She leaned in, voice dropping. "You know who he is, right? Royce Group. My cousin works in their finance office. They just put money into some logistics firm. Callahan something."

My fingers went cold.

"Callahan Freight?"

"That's it. Biggest round they ever raised. Without Royce, that whole company folds." She laughed. "Lucky them, huh?"

Lucky them.

Preston had talked about that investment for months. *If Royce pulls out, we're dead, Audrey. Dead.*

And last night, Kellan Royce had paid for the wife Preston threw into the rain.

I tried to call my sister from the lobby. The screen flashed. *Service suspended. Please contact your account holder.*

Account holder. Preston.

My prenatal vitamins were at home. So was my progesterone. So was my passport. I had no choice.

---

The front door wasn't even locked.

Mallory stood in my kitchen in my silk robe. The cream one, the one my mother gave me before she died. She was sipping from my mug. The one with the chipped handle that said *World's Okayest Wife.*

Preston bought it for me as a joke on our first anniversary.

"Oh." Mallory lowered it slowly. "You're back."

"Take off my robe."

"Audrey." Preston came down the stairs, buttoning his shirt. He looked rested. Calm. Like last night was a bad movie we'd both walked out of. "Good. You're home. We need to talk."

"Your girlfriend is wearing my mother's robe."

"She spilled coffee on her clothes. Don't be petty." He reached the bottom step and folded his arms. "Mallory cried all night. Did you know that? All night. Because of how you spoke to her."

I stared at him.

"Because of how *I* spoke to *her*."

"You screamed. You threw soup. You told her to leave in a storm." He shook his head like a disappointed teacher. "You're eight weeks pregnant. Dr. Shaw said stress could hurt the baby. Do you want to lose it? Because that's where this is going."

Mallory set my mug down. Her eyes were wet again. She was good at that.

"I just want everyone to be okay," she whispered.

"Apologize to her," Preston said.

The room tilted.

I thought of the needles. The two failed transfers. The heartbeat on the screen last week, tiny and fast like a hummingbird.

I thought of the pills upstairs I needed to keep that heartbeat going.

"Fine." My throat burned. "I'm sorry, Mallory."

Preston's shoulders dropped. He smiled.

"See? Was that so hard?"

"I need to get my vitamins."

"Mallory, help her up. She's pale."

"I don't need—"

But Mallory was already at my elbow, her fingers tight around my arm. We took the stairs together. On the fourth step, she leaned close. Her breath smelled like my coffee.

"He's tired of you, you know," she said softly. "A wife he can't touch. A wife who cries when the toast burns. He told me last month he felt like he was living with a patient."

I stopped.

"Last month?"

She smiled. Just a little.

Then the pain hit.

It ripped low through my belly, hot and twisting. My knees folded. I grabbed the railing and missed.

"Preston!" Mallory shrieked, suddenly loud and frightened. "Preston, she's falling!"

---

The private clinic on Delmore Avenue smelled like lavender and bleach. Dr. Helena Shaw moved the wand slowly over my stomach while I held my breath and counted ceiling tiles.

"There," she said.

The heartbeat filled the room. Fast. Stubborn.

I sobbed so hard the bed shook.

"Baby's okay for now," Dr. Shaw said. "But you need rest. Real rest."

Preston squeezed my shoulder. "Thank God. I'll get the car."

When the door shut behind him, Dr. Shaw didn't move. She pulled her chair closer and set down a folder.

"Mrs. Callahan. I need to tell you something, and I need you to stay calm."

My hand went to my stomach. "You said the baby was okay."

"The baby is fine. This is about the transfer." She opened the folder. Her fingers weren't steady. "During our annual audit, we checked every frozen sample. We found a labeling error. On the day of your fertilization, the sample used was not your husband's."

The words didn't land. They floated.

"Not his."

"No."

"So this baby belongs to—" I swallowed. "Some stranger? Some random donor?"

"Not a donor." She took a breath. "A private storage client. Four years ago he had surgery that might have affected his fertility. He banked samples here first. His genetic profile was on file. We've run a preliminary match against your prenatal screening." She looked straight at me. "It's consistent. Your husband is not the biological father."

"Who?"

She hesitated.

"Who, Dr. Shaw?"

"Kellan Royce."

I slid sideways. My hip hit the edge of the chair and I caught the armrest just before I hit the floor.

Cedar and rain. A black card on a marble counter. A cuff snapping away from my fingers.

*No need. Good night.*

"Mrs. Callahan?"

I started laughing. I couldn't stop. Tears ran down my face, and I was laughing.

"Are you all right?"

"No," I said. "Not even a little."

"The clinic is legally required to inform both parties. Our lawyers—"

"Don't." I grabbed her wrist. "Please. Don't call anyone. Not him. Not my husband. Not yet."

"I'm not sure I can promise—"

"I'm high-risk. You just said it. I need rest. My marriage is—" My voice broke. "I'm handling something. Give me time. Please."

She studied me for a long moment.

"Thirty days," she said. "Then we talk again."

---

Dinner was roast chicken. Mallory made it. She sat at the far end of the table, legs crossed.

"You'll stop this job nonsense," Preston said, cutting his meat. "No more résumés. No more calls to your old firm. You stay home. You rest. You give me my heir."

*My heir.*

Under the table, Mallory's bare foot slid up his calf. Slowly. He didn't even blink.

A week ago, I would have cried.

I didn't.

I reached across the table and took Preston's hand. His fork froze.

"You were right," I said gently. "I overreacted. I was scared. I forgive you."

His eyes searched mine. Then something in his face loosened. Victory. Plain as daylight.

"I knew you'd come around."

Mallory's foot went still.

"Can Mallory stay?" I asked. "I'll need help. With the baby."

Preston actually laughed. "Of course she can."

That night, my phone lit up on the nightstand. *Your cards have been reactivated.* Then: *Service restored.*

He thought he'd bought me back.

I lay in the dark and pressed my palm over my stomach.

"Hi, Iris," I whispered. I had picked the name months ago. It finally felt like hers.

He would watch me carry you. He would brag about you at every dinner. He would hang your picture in his office.

And then he would lose all of it. The company. The wife. The child he thought was his.

Down the hall, a door clicked shut.

My phone buzzed again. A number I didn't know.

*This is Kellan Royce. The Lennox called. They said you were taken to Delmore Clinic this morning. Is that true?*