My Husband Funded His Mistress While I Carried Our Child

Two weeks passed in a blur of morning sickness and pretended normalcy. I'd been taking prenatal vitamins religiously, eating small meals whenever the nausea subsided, and trying to focus on the tiny life growing inside me. The pregnancy test I'd hidden in my pocket that day Derek begged for forgiveness was now tucked away in a drawer—my secret strength when doubts crept in.

I'd been resting on the chaise lounge in our bedroom, one hand on my still-flat stomach, when I heard Derek's voice drifting from his study downstairs. Something about his tone—hushed, intimate—made me pause.

"You're supposed to be resting," I whispered to myself, but my body moved instinctively toward the door.

The house was quiet except for Derek's voice, barely audible through the thick wood of his study door. I pressed my ear against it, my heart pounding.

"Just wait until the baby is born," he was saying, his voice low but clear. "Then I can leave her without losing the company shares."

My breath caught in my throat. I pressed closer, my hands trembling against the polished surface.

"You and your son are the only family I want to protect," he continued, each word a knife twisting in my chest. "Veronica will never know what hit her."

I stumbled backward, my legs suddenly unable to support me. The room spun around me as his words echoed in my mind.

*The only family I want to protect.*

Not me. Not our baby.

A sob rose in my throat, but I swallowed it down. No more tears. No more hoping.

---

"To coffee," Monroe said, raising her cup with a determined smile.

We sat in a corner booth at Café Luna, far from the corporate towers where Derek conducted his business—and his affair. The sunlight streamed through the windows, catching the gold flecks in Monroe's eyes.

"I'm sorry," she said, reaching across the table to squeeze my hand. "I should have intervened sooner. I knew something was wrong."

"You tried," I reminded her, wrapping my fingers around the warm ceramic. "I was the one who pushed you away."

Monroe had been my best friend since boarding school, but I'd grown distant over the past year, defensive of my marriage even as it crumbled around me.

"Well, I'm here now," she said firmly. "And I brought someone who can help."

She gestured toward a man approaching our table—tall, with silver-streaked hair and piercing eyes that seemed to assess everything at once.

"Veronica Parker, this is Marcus Thompson," Monroe introduced. "The best divorce lawyer in the state."

"Ms. Parker," he said, sliding into the booth beside Monroe. "Your situation is... interesting."

"Interesting," I repeated, raising an eyebrow.

"Potentially lucrative," he corrected with a thin smile. "But we need evidence. Financial misconduct, specifically. If we can prove Derek has been moving assets or engaging in fraudulent activity, we can ensure you keep your family's shares in Parker Industries."

"He's careful," I warned.

"All men like Derek make mistakes," Marcus replied, opening a leather portfolio. "They think they're smarter than everyone else."

For the first time in weeks, I felt a flicker of hope—not for my marriage, but for my future.

---

"Look at that profile," Dr. Chen said, pointing to the ultrasound screen. "Strong nose, just like his father."

Derek smiled beside me, his hand resting protectively on mine. To anyone watching, we were the perfect couple—the devoted father-to-be and his radiant wife.

"Can we get a picture?" Derek asked, his voice warm with manufactured emotion.

"Of course," Dr. Chen replied, pressing a button. "You're having a boy."

A boy. My son. The thought filled me with fierce protectiveness.

As Dr. Chen stepped out to retrieve the printed image, Derek's phone buzzed. I watched from the corner of my eye as he slipped it from his pocket, glancing at the screen beneath the medical drape covering my lower half.

"Everything okay?" I asked, my voice steady despite the suspicion curling in my stomach.

"Just work," he replied smoothly, but his thumb was already typing.

I shifted slightly, pretending to adjust my position on the examination table. From this new angle, I could see his screen clearly.

He was forwarding the ultrasound image—my son's first picture—with a message: "Just insurance policy."

The room tilted around me as the meaning sank in. He wasn't sharing this moment with his family or saving it for his wallet. He was sending it to her.

"Cassandra," I whispered, the name bitter on my tongue.

"Veronica?" Derek's head snapped up, his expression alarmed. "What's wrong?"

"I feel faint," I lied, blinking rapidly to suppress the tears threatening to spill. "Can we finish another time?"

As we left the clinic, Derek's arm around my waist felt like a chain rather than support. I looked up at him—this stranger I'd loved since childhood—and wondered how I'd ever believed his lies.