The Pottery Party That Shattered My Life
When I signed up for a pottery class with my best friend Ava, I thought it would be a fun, harmless way to pass the time while waiting for baby number two. I imagined it would be a light afternoon of painting, laughing, and making something cute for the nursery. But what actually happened that day turned my whole world upside down. It started with a few brushstrokes… and ended with a secret that shattered my marriage.
I’m Olivia, and I’m currently eight months pregnant. People say the second pregnancy is more emotional than the first. I used to roll my eyes when I heard that. Just another silly thing my mom used to say, right? Turns out, she wasn’t wrong. But it wasn’t the pregnancy hormones making me cry at random—it was something else entirely.
Honestly, most days during this pregnancy, I just want to stay in bed, wrapped in a fluffy blanket, watching the worst reality shows on TV and eating everything I can get my hands on—chips, cookies, pickles, ice cream, you name it. Growing a human is exhausting. I was totally fine with becoming a snack monster for the next few months.
But Ava had other plans.
One afternoon, she showed up at my place, all bubbly and full of energy, wearing this bright yellow dress that practically screamed, I have plans for you.
She stood in my kitchen, blending a strawberry milkshake like it was a science experiment. Meanwhile, I was sunk deep into the couch, my feet up on a cushion, and I was silently hoping she’d just drop off the milkshake and leave me alone with my Oreos.
“You need to get out of the house,” she said, tossing me a look over her shoulder.
“Why?” I asked flatly, already knowing she wouldn’t stop until I gave in.
“Because you’re turning into a hermit, Liv. We used to have fun, remember?” she grinned as the blender roared to life.
I rolled my eyes. “You’re confusing fun with exhaustion.”
Ava ignored me, like always. “I found this adorable little pottery studio. They do something called pottery parties. You can either paint something or make something out of clay. We should go.”
I groaned. “Why are we signing up for this again?”
“Because it’ll be fun! Let’s make something cute for the baby’s nursery. You need to stop overthinking and just do something.”
She slid the milkshake across the counter like it was a peace offering.
I stared at the glass, then sighed, knowing she wouldn’t back down. “Fine. But you owe me. Whatever this baby craves tonight, you’re on snack duty.”
“Deal!” she said, grinning like she’d just won the lottery. “And don’t worry, I already told Malcolm he’s on Tess duty for the night.”
That stopped me cold. Ava never talked to Malcolm unless she had to. She barely tolerated him, and honestly, I always felt like there was tension between them. The fact that she spoke to him before even asking me? That was… strange. But I shook it off. What could possibly go wrong?
The pottery place was packed when we arrived. Colorful shelves lined the walls with finished mugs, plates, and little clay animals. The room buzzed with conversation, and music played in the background. It was way louder than I expected.
Ava grinned like a proud mom watching her kid in a school play. “See? Told you it’d be fun.”
“If by fun you mean loud, then sure,” I said, smirking.
We picked a spot at a quieter table in the back and grabbed our ceramic pieces and brushes. It actually started out nice. Light-hearted chatter, lots of laughing. For the first time in a while, I felt halfway normal.
The conversation in the room flowed naturally, mostly between women talking about pregnancy and birth stories. Some were hilarious, others were terrifying. Everyone had something to share—even if it was a story about their sister, cousin, or friend. I listened, painted, and tried to enjoy myself.
Then it happened.
A woman at the next table over, casually painting flowers on a mug, started talking.
“So, last year on the Fourth of July, I was with my boyfriend,” she began. “We were watching a movie at my place when he got this call out of nowhere. He told me his sister-in-law had gone into labor, and he had to be there.”
I froze.
“He said it was a big family thing and that everyone was meeting at the hospital. I thought it was strange—I mean, who leaves in the middle of the night like that unless it’s your own baby being born?”
She chuckled, totally unaware of the storm she was stirring up in my chest. “Anyway, he left. I stayed home. Later, he texted that the baby was a girl and her name was… Tess.”
My heart stopped.
Tess.
My daughter.
Born on the Fourth of July.
Ava looked at me slowly. I could feel her stare without even turning my head. I couldn’t speak. My fingers went numb around the paintbrush.
Then the woman added casually, “He told me he was babysitting Tess that night. I was so mad—he missed our son’s birth because of that. Said he couldn’t leave her.”
Ava’s voice came out as a whisper, tight and careful. “Liv… is this some kind of sick joke?”
My mouth was dry. The walls felt like they were closing in.
I couldn’t breathe.
Everything she was saying matched. The date. The name. The situation.
It was Malcolm.
I turned to the woman, my voice barely a whisper. “Your boyfriend… what’s his name?”
She looked up, a little confused. “Malcolm. Why?”
I grabbed my phone with shaking hands. My lock screen—me, Malcolm, and Tess smiling at the zoo last month—shone back at me.
I turned the phone toward her. “Is this him?”
Her eyes widened. Her face paled.
“Yeah… that’s him. Wait—why do you have a picture of Malcolm on your phone?”
I blinked, forcing the words out. “Because he’s my husband.”
The room went completely silent.
She stared at me, eyes wide, then looked back at the photo. “No… no, that can’t be. Malcolm… he’s the father of my son.”
A crashing sound rang through my head. My ears buzzed. I couldn’t think.
The other women around us froze mid-conversation. The happy pottery party turned into a nightmare in slow motion.
Ava clutched my arm. “Olivia… we need to get you some water.”
I nodded, barely hearing her. My legs were shaking.
The woman across from me looked horrified. “I didn’t know. I swear. I didn’t know he was married.”
Tears spilled down my face as I stood up and stumbled toward the hallway. I barely made it to the bathroom before locking the door and collapsing over the sink. My chest heaved as the truth crashed down on me.
Malcolm cheated.
He had another child.
And I had no idea.
Later that night, I confronted him. I couldn’t wait—I needed answers before bringing another child into this chaos.
When I told him everything, he didn’t even try to deny it.
He looked down and said, “I didn’t mean for it to happen like this.”
The world shattered.
The man I loved, the father of my children, had betrayed me in the worst way. He missed our daughter’s birth for another woman. He built a second life behind my back.
Now here I am—eating chocolate on the couch, eight months pregnant, and scrolling through divorce lawyer websites.
This isn’t the life I imagined. I thought my kids would grow up in a happy home. I thought Malcolm was someone I could trust. But I can’t build a future with a man who lied to my face and hid a whole other family from me.
My children now have a half-sibling. A child born from betrayal. And while that little boy is innocent in all of this, the truth still hurts more than anything I’ve ever felt.
Ava drove me home from the pottery class. Neither of us said much. I stared out the window as tears ran down my cheeks.
When we pulled into my driveway, I turned to her and said, “This is it, Ava. I’m done with him.”
She nodded, and her hand found mine. “I’ve got you, Liv. Whatever you need.”
I meant every word. I was done.
And now, I’m going to build a new life. One where my kids feel safe. One built on truth, not secrets.
Because we deserve better.
And I won’t let his lies define us.
Not anymore.
