When Sleep Talking Exposed My Husband's Affair

Walking out of Brian’s office building, I drew in a long breath of cold air.

Vanessa O’Hara, you really think hiding in the shadows means I can’t touch you? You’ll learn soon enough what it means to cross a wife.

That night, Brian came home late, reeking of whiskey and woman’s perfume.

“Client dinner. Had a few drinks to please them,” he muttered, hiccupping as he kicked off his shoes. “I’ll go shower.”

Vanessa: [Babe, the checkup went well. Doctor says everything good. Oh and it’s a boy!]

Brian: [That’s amazing! I’ll have a son. Tomorrow I’ll take you shopping for baby stuff.]

Vanessa: [You’re the best, babe. I love you.]

Brian: [I love you and our baby. Once he’s here, we’ll be a real family.]

Disgust twisted in my stomach. I had to fight the urge to throw up. They’d already planned everything—just waiting for me, the legal wife, to step aside. Well, over my dead body.

I slid his phone back into place just as he came out of the bathroom, steam curling behind him. My lips curved into the sweetest smile I could muster.

“Seems like you’ve had a lot of meetings lately. You’ve been working so hard, honey,” I murmured, stepping close, my fingers kneading his shoulders.

He sighed with satisfaction, eyes half-lidded. “It’s all for our future.”

“By the way,” I said casually, “I had a little talk with your front desk girl today. I think she’s pregnant.”

His body stiffened instantly. “Really? Didn’t notice.”

“Probably because it’s still early. Three or four months along maybe,” I added, baiting him.

“Young people these days are careless. No respect for themselves,” he muttered after clearing his throat, scrambling for an excuse.

I fought the urge to scoff, “Well, I hope her boyfriend’s a decent guy. Otherwise… poor thing.” Thin smile on my lips, showing just enough sympathy.

“Yeah… he’d better be,” Brian mumbled, sweat forming at his temple.

***

The next day, I sent my private investigator to follow them. Brian took Vanessa to a luxury maternity boutique. They wandered through aisles of pastel cribs and tiny shoes, laughing like newlyweds. In one photo, Brian’s hand was on her waist, the other brushing tenderly over her swollen stomach, his gaze soft and tender—the way he used to look at me when we first got married. And then, he escorted her into a jewelry store and slipped a two-thousand-dollar diamond ring onto her finger, as if to mock me.

When we got married, I told him not to spend too much on my ring. He’d cried, said I was the most understanding woman alive. Now? He could hand over two grand for his mistress without blinking.

I saved every photo. Evidence for the divorce.

That afternoon, I headed to the shopping district—the same area Vanessa was known to frequent—under the pretense of buying clothes. I spotted her in a café, chatting with a friend. I ordered a coffee and took the corner seat near enough to catch every word.

“Vanessa, are you sure want to keep this going?” her friend asked. “He’s married.”

“So what?” Vanessa scoffed, stroking her bump. “He doesn’t even love her. He’s only with her because her family’s loaded. He told me once the baby’s born, he’ll divorce her.”

Her friend frowned. “But what if he’s lying?”

“He’s not. Look at how he treats me. He bought me this ring. It’s worth two grand by the way and, he bought me a condo. A man doesn’t spend that much on woman unless he loves her.” She flashed the diamond like it was her crown jewel.

The friend hesitated. “Still… what if his wife finds out?”

Vanessa laughed, smug and careless. “So what if she does? I’m carrying his son. That’s my ultimate bargaining chip. Men want heir–one from their own blood. He’ll never abandon me or the baby.”

Then she said it—words that almost made me snap right there.

“That old hag he married—she’s been with him three years and hasn’t given him a single offspring. Meanwhile, I get pregnant with a son on the first try. Who do you think he’ll choose?”

Old hag? That little bitch really has the nerve to call me that. I nearly walked over and slapped her. However, I clenched my fists, forcing myself to stay put and listen.

“He promised me,” Vanessa gushed, eyes shining, “that once the baby’s born he’ll go public with us. I’ll be Mrs. Roger. A society wife. I’ll finally be rich, respected, never having to bow to anyone ever again.”

Her friend bit her lip. “Does Claudia know about you?”

“Of course not,” Vanessa giggled. “Brian plays it good. He never slips. But even if she finds out—so what? She doesn’t have his child. I do. That makes me the winner.”

Alright, that’s it!  I couldn’t listen another second. I stood, my chair scraping back. Out on the street, I dialed my father.

“Dad, let’s do it,” I said, my voice steel.