The Nanny Had His Baby, Then He Broke Me

My husband got the live-in nanny pregnant.

The moment I asked for a divorce, Tilda Pruitt threw herself between us.

"Don't blame Mr. Weiss—I'm the one who took his used condom out of the trash and got pregnant on purpose. I just wanted a baby so badly."

My husband even pulled up surveillance footage to prove his innocence.

I decided to forgive Mick Weiss. I had only one condition.

"Abort the baby."

Mick dragged the nanny to the hospital himself. He held me and swore he would never betray me for the rest of his life.

Six months later, Mick went bankrupt and was sent to prison. I was forced into the basement.

To pay off tens of millions in debt, I bused tables. I took jobs sleeping in haunted houses for real-estate agencies.

Two years of that ground me down to nothing. By the time I found out I had cancer, I couldn't afford treatment.

I was about to buy a bottle of pesticide and end the pain when I saw him—Mick Weiss, who was supposed to be behind bars, a one-year-old on his hip and his arm around Tilda Pruitt, the three of them looking every bit the happy family.

Tilda's gaze flicked toward me, deliberate, taunting. She leaned in and kissed my husband on the lips.

"You've been faking prison for Desiree this whole time, spending two years playing house with me and the baby instead—aren't you the least bit worried your wife will find out and come after you?"

Mick didn't even bother to look concerned. He let out a cold laugh.

"She's the one who insisted on aborting your child. This is exactly what she deserves."

"The moment you got pregnant, I'd already decided I was going to be with you and Benny—our family of three, together."

"As for Desiree, the punishment doesn't end until she crawls to me and begs."

The pesticide bottle slipped from my hand and cracked against the ground, and I laughed until tears ran down my face—the bankruptcy, the prison sentence, all of it nothing but a scheme to punish me.

But Mick Weiss,

you won't live to see that day.

——

Acrid liquid seeped from the fallen bottle, pooling on the ground.

I bent down slowly, reaching for it—

and then his voice carried from the Porsche's window again, close enough to cut.

"Isn't this a little much? What if she finds out the truth—you're not scared she'll lose her mind, go hysterical, throw herself off something, demand a divorce?"

Mick scoffed, his tone bored.

"She can't live without me."

Tilda smiled and draped her arms around his neck.

"I always knew you were the one who was good to me."

"She still has no idea, does she? You brought me into your house as the nanny just so we could be together more easily."

"I made up that ridiculous lie on the spot and she actually believed it. Believed it and forgave you. Ha!"

"A woman that stupid deserves to be fooled a thousand times. Ten thousand times!"

I couldn't move. Cold bled out from somewhere deep inside my bones, freezing me where I stood.

That lie she told, paired with Mick's little performance of innocence,

had played me completely.

And now, two years later, she wore it like a trophy, flaunting her victory with that smug, taunting face.

Mick ruffled her hair, indulgent. "She's always been an idiot. Otherwise she never would've believed I was actually bankrupt."

"Two full years I funneled assets out right under her nose, set up a whole other home, lived happily with you and our son—and she never noticed a single thing."

He let out a derisive laugh.

"What else would you call her?"

Tilda's eyes slid toward me again, feigning casualness, then she pouted.

"But I heard a couple of days ago you faked being sick in prison, and Desiree completely lost it—went running to every one of your friends begging to borrow money?"

"So? None of them gave her any?"

Mick laughed, careless. "Of course not. I'd already warned every one of them. They wouldn't dare."

I closed my eyes. Of course they wouldn't. Not a single one.