When I told my husband I was pregnant, he froze. When he saw the ultrasound, he panicked. The next morning, he was gone—no calls, no trace. But I wasn’t about to just let him disappear. I needed answers… and payback.
That morning, I woke up to an unusual silence. Usually, my husband, Max, would already be moving around the apartment: taking a shower, making coffee, or mumbling about the news. But that day… nothing.
I opened my eyes and reached for his side of the bed. Cold. I sat up, heart pounding, and looked around. His suit, which was always carelessly draped over the chair, was gone.
I jumped out of bed and hurried into the living room. Empty.
The kitchen? Spotless.
On the dining table, a single sheet of paper:
“I’m sorry. I’m not ready.”
I read those five words over and over again, my brain refusing to process them.
“What?” I whispered, my fingers tightening around the note.
A sinking feeling spread through me. I rushed to the closet—empty. No shirts, no pants, not even his shoes. The bathroom? His cologne, shaving cream, towel—gone. I yanked open his drawer in the entryway. Nothing.
He was gone. For real.
Why? How?
I replayed last night in my head.
When I handed Max the envelope with the ultrasound photo, he took it carefully. At first, he smiled, but then… his whole face changed.
“You’re… you’re pregnant?”
“Yes! Isn’t it wonderful?” I beamed, practically glowing with excitement.
“But… we weren’t planning this…”
“I know, but some things are meant to be, right?” I reached for his hand.
His eyes dropped back to the ultrasound. His jaw tensed.
“Wait… what is this?”
“It’s twins, Max.”
His arms wrapped around me, but something about the embrace felt… off. A wife expects a certain kind of reaction when she shares life-changing news. And that wasn’t it.
He didn’t ask how I felt. He didn’t kiss me or say we’d figure it out together. Instead, he just got up.
“I need some fresh air.”
And then he left.
I had imagined that moment so differently. I thought he was overwhelmed in a good way, that maybe he’d come back with a huge bouquet or a giant box of chocolates.
Instead, he didn’t come back at all.
I stood there with a hollow pit in my stomach, clutching my phone. I called once. No answer. Twice. Three times.
“The number you are trying to reach is currently unavailable.”
I opened my messages. The last one from me, sent last night:
“I’m so happy! I can’t wait until we feel their first kicks together! ❤️”
He hadn’t even read it.
The last one from him? Before dinner:
“Running late. Don’t wait up.”
At first, I thought Max was just panicking and needed time to process. But days passed, and he didn’t come back.
By the fourth day, my patience had worn thin. If Max wasn’t coming back, I needed to know why.
I started cleaning. Partly because the apartment felt suffocating and partly because I was determined to find something.
When I reached the laundry basket, I pulled out his jacket, the same one he wore that evening.
I brought it to my nose and inhaled deeply. A faint scent lingered. Soft, floral, unmistakably feminine. And it didn’t belong to me.
It can’t be…
Frantically, I turned the jacket inside out, shaking my hands as I dug into the pockets. Loose change. Crumpled receipts. A folded napkin from a restaurant.
And then… something that made my breath hitch.
A receipt!
My eyes darted over the details. The purchase wasn’t anything special, but the location… there it was, a neatly written address in a woman’s hand.
What if this is just a random receipt? What if it means nothing?
But deep down, I already knew the truth.
That evening, I stood outside a cozy little house on the outskirts of town. My breath came in shallow gasps.
I had been watching for thirty minutes. Long enough to see the woman arrive—blonde, at least ten years younger than me. She had parked her old Jeep, pulled out grocery bags, and disappeared inside.
Later, warm light glowed from the windows. I could see her moving around, preparing dinner.
For herself? Or… for Max?
I had to act while she was still alone. Finally, I stepped forward and knocked.
The door opened almost instantly, and the woman blinked at me, confused.
“Hi,” I said, my voice cold.
“Hi… Do I know you?”
“You really don’t?”
“No… Should I?”
A few seconds passed before realization hit me. She had no idea who I was.
“I’m Max’s wife.”
Her face turned pale.
“Wife?” Her hands gripped the edge of the doorframe. “Max is… coming soon, but… but you should come in.”
I stepped inside, my eyes scanning the house. Simple, clean, nothing fancy. A few open grocery bags on the counter, a half-prepared dinner on the stove. It smelled like garlic and rosemary.
She pulled the curtains shut before pouring me a glass of water. Then she grabbed one for herself and downed it in a single gulp. She was more nervous than I was.
“I’m Katie,” she finally said. “I’ve been dating Max for six months. I… I swear, I didn’t know he was married.”
A sharp, bitter laugh almost escaped me. Instead, I reached for my left hand and slipped off my wedding ring. I placed it in the center of the table.
“We’ve been married for two years. And we’re having twins.”
“Oh my God…”
She didn’t know. She really didn’t know.
Katie exhaled slowly, rubbing her temples.
“How could he…”
At that moment, we weren’t two women on different sides of a betrayal. We were two women standing on the same side of a war.
Katie leaned forward, eyes locked on mine.
“What are we going to do with him?”
And just like that, an idea started to take shape. A slow, deliciously cruel idea.
I lifted my glass and took a sip.
“I think it’s time Max got a taste of his own medicine.”
Katie leaned in closer. “Tell me more.”
And that was how it all began.
