It was my birthday, and the baby kicked like it knew something was wrong. I’d imagined flowers, a kiss, maybe a quiet promise. Instead, the door opened and my husband walked in—with another woman on his arm. He smiled like I was a stranger and placed a sleek envelope in my hands. “Happy birthday, Emily,” he said. “Open it.” Inside was a divorce agreement. My throat went cold. “You brought her here… for this?” He leaned closer, whispering, “Sign. Don’t make it ugly.” I rested my palm on my belly and smiled back. He had no idea what I was about to do.
It was my birthday, and the baby kicked like it knew something was wrong. I’d imagined flowers, a kiss, maybe a quiet promise. Instead, the front door opened and my husband walked in—with another woman on his arm. He didn’t even try to hide it. He looked… relieved, like he’d finally stopped pretending. He smiled…