My husband and I had been child-free by choice for 15 years when, out of nowhere, I received an anonymous multimedia message. The photo? It showed my husband escorting a young woman into a hospital—straight into the OB-GYN clinic. The text message that came with it read: “You’re old and washed up. What do you have to compete with me?” Fury surged through me, but it didn’t take long for my mind to clear. I let out a cold, dismissive laugh. An “old woman” may not have youth, but she’s got something better—more tricks up her sleeve and a heart that’s a hell of a lot more ruthless. On our 15th wedding anniversary, my mother-in-law, Mrs. Elliott, suggested we visit a church to “pray for peace and blessings.” Seeing the eager anticipation in her eyes, I couldn’t bring myself to refuse. I postponed an important work meeting and got into the car heading to Grace Chapel with her. As I was leaving, my husband Lucas gave me an apologetic look. “Sorry, honey. I’m really close to finishing my painting. I’ve got to ride this wave of inspiration to make sure it’s ready for your gallery opening in three months. Love you!” I rolled my eyes but couldn’t help the warmth spreading in my chest. Ever since our second year of marriage, I had been adamant about remaining child-free. Lucas had respected my decision, and now, 15 years later, our relationship was still strong and full of love. Mrs. Elliott, despite being a traditional woman from a small town, had never scolded me for not having children. Instead, she would send me care packages every month—homemade jams, herbal supplements, and little reminders to take care of myself. Grace Chapel was known far and wide as a “miracle church” for those praying to conceive. Praying for peace? Please. This woman was clearly trying to pull one over on me. Honestly, I was starting to wonder if Lucas and Mrs. Elliott had caught wind of my secret and were using this trip as an excuse to get me to “bask in the blessings.” Inside the chapel, Mrs. Elliott knelt fervently on a prayer cushion in front of the altar, her lips moving rapidly as she whispered one heartfelt prayer after another. Her face was glowing with excitement, as if just kneeling there would miraculously make me pregnant. Seeing how happy she looked, I couldn’t help but smile. Resting my hand briefly on my flat stomach, I knelt beside her, clasped my hands together, and prayed silently: “Please, Lord, grant us a loving marriage and a happy family.” Just then, my phone buzzed in my purse. The sound was out of place in the sacred stillness of the chapel. I bowed my head apologetically toward the altar before stepping outside to check the message. What I saw made my blood run cold.
A text from an unknown number popped up, accompanied by a photo. The image? A man carrying a bag and carefully helping a young woman. The background clearly showed the entrance to the OB-GYN department of a hospital. Even without seeing his face, I recognized the profile and posture in an instant. This was Lucas—the man I had shared my life with for 15 years. Was he cheating? Or just helping? I desperately clung to the possibility of the latter, but the next text shattered any hope I had left. “You’re old and dried up. What could you possibly offer compared to me?” This message came with another photo—this time of a rounded baby bump, clearly five or six months along. I prided myself on being calm and composed in any situation, but this blatant provocation sent my anger straight to a boiling point. After taking a deep breath, I forced myself to think clearly. And then, it hit me. I laughed. How foolish of me to jump to conclusions. There was no way that child could be Lucas’s. I was certain of it. What was there to panic about? Composing myself, I headed back into the chapel to find Mrs. Elliott. She was grinning ear to ear, happily chatting with the pastor as she clutched a prayer slip in her hand. Not wanting to interrupt, I approached quietly, just in time to overhear her whispering: “Pastor, can the prayer tell us if the baby is a boy or a girl?” Her voice was soft but full of excitement. “I’ve been praying for this child for 15 years. I can’t believe it’s finally happening!” My heart skipped a beat. Did she know about my secret? For a moment, I considered stepping forward and telling her everything. But remembering my plan, I held back, retreating to hide behind a nearby statue. The pastor smiled warmly and reassured her, “Every child is a blessing, whether it’s a boy or a girl.” Mrs. Elliott clapped her hands together in delight. “I knew it! That young lady just has such a lucky aura about her. I’m sure her baby will be blessed as well!” Young lady? The image from the text suddenly flashed in my mind—the young woman with the rounded belly. My calm facade cracked slightly. When Mrs. Elliott finally left the chapel, looking as pleased as can be, I stayed behind to kneel before the altar. I bowed my head and prayed, “Thank you, Lord, for granting me clarity.” On the car ride home, I decided to test the waters. “Mom, what kind of prayer did you ask for today?” I asked with a casual smile. Mrs. Elliott beamed at me. “Oh, I know how much your career means to you, so I prayed for your success! Look, it’s a top-tier fortune!” She held up the slip of paper, which indeed contained a career blessing. If I hadn’t overheard her earlier, I might have been fooled by her act. But they truly believed that child was some divine gift, a token of gratitude from the heavens? They clearly didn’t know what kind of storm was coming for them.
When I got home, I headed straight for Lucas’s studio. Pushing the door open, I saw the painting he’d supposedly been “working on” was exactly the same as it had been the last time I checked. Not a single color mixed, not a single new stroke added. A bitter ache welled up in my chest—he couldn’t even be bothered to keep up the pretense anymore. How pathetic of me, falling for his sweet words and thinking he’d been working so hard in here every day. It was late when Lucas finally came home. He found me sitting in the study, busy with work. With his usual smug charm, he walked in holding a glass of milk. “Babe, you’ve been working so hard! Still at it this late?” He gave me an exaggeratedly sheepish smile. “I ran out of paint today, so I had to go out and pick some up. And guess what? I bumped into this legendary mentor who’s in town for a project. We got talking, and I completely lost track of time. Drink up and get some rest—you’re working too hard, and it makes me worry.” Any other day, I might’ve melted at his thoughtfulness. Sweet, considerate Lucas—always knowing how to smooth over my stress with just the right words. But tonight, all I could think about was the image of him helping that young woman—the way he held her arm so carefully. My heart felt like stone. As he leaned closer, I caught two distinct scents: the sterile tang of a hospital and the unmistakable aroma of durian—my favorite fruit. The combination was so nauseating I almost gagged. “You’ve had a long day too,” I managed, forcing a smile. “Go on to bed. I’ll take a quick shower and join you soon.” “Sure thing,” he said cheerfully. “I’ll just check in on Mom first.” With that, he headed toward Mrs. Elliott’s room. In the bathroom, I spotted the clothes Lucas had just changed out of and, almost without thinking, picked them up. My hand slipped into his pants pocket, where I felt the edge of a thin piece of paper. Pulling it out, I read: Private Women’s Clinic – OB/GYN Department Payment Receipt Patient: Natalie, 22 years old, 23 weeks and 4 days pregnant. Oh, how young she was. No wonder she felt bold enough to send me that provocative text. No wonder she’d left this receipt for Lucas to “accidentally” bring home. Young girls love recklessly, their emotions loud and unapologetic. She desperately wanted to prove she was more important than me, the “old, washed-up wife.” But what she didn’t know was that while I might not have her youth and energy, I make up for it with something stronger: sharper instincts and a much colder heart. She was bound to be disappointed.
I touched my flat stomach, weighing my options: should I play along and fight the girl head-on, or simply discard the man entirely? Just then, my phone buzzed again. Another picture. This time, it showed a table with three large durians. A hand—wearing the same wedding ring I had—was peeling a durian and placing the fruit onto a plate in front of the young woman. Neither of them showed their faces, but the intimacy of the moment, their shared warmth, practically radiated from the photo. Durian. My favorite fruit. But I hadn’t touched it in 15 years because Lucas couldn’t stand the smell. I gave it up for his sake. And now, here he was, not only tolerating it but personally peeling it for another woman. Fifteen years of compromise and sacrifice flashed before my eyes. All the times I had bent for love, while he had learned to adapt and care for someone else’s preferences with ease. The irony was almost laughable. Before I could fully process my emotions, Lucas came rushing back into the room, hurriedly changing his clothes. “Sorry, babe, I’ve got to head out.” “Something happened?” I asked coolly. “Yeah, that mentor I mentioned earlier—he got into a car accident. He’s all alone here, no family around, and he called me for help. I need to go check on him.” As he spoke, he even showed me his phone, the contact name clearly labeled as one of his male friends. But I caught a glimpse of the number. It was the same one that had sent me those anonymous texts. How sloppy. This pitifully bad lie was one of many he’d fed me over the years, but today, for the first time, I truly saw him. I waved him off nonchalantly. “Go on, then. Don’t keep him waiting.” As Lucas left, I couldn’t help but smirk. The girl was working overtime to prove how much Lucas cared for her, how much he loved her. She wanted nothing more than to flaunt her victory in my face. Well, if she wanted a fight, she’d get one. I’m Naomi. I’ve never begged for scraps of love. And now that I’ve seen Lucas for the fraud he is, it’s time to hit back. Hard. I pulled up a number on my phone and dialed. “Hey, remember that apartment you mentioned? Is it still available? I need a favor.”
For two days straight, I buried myself in crunching numbers, preparing an entire set of financial reports for Lucas’s gallery. At the same time, I had someone dig deep into Natalie’s background—every last detail. Lucas, on the other hand, hadn’t set foot at home during those two days. He called to say his “mentor” was in critical condition, and he had to stay at the hospital to take care of him. I didn’t argue. If it’s true love, then by all means, go ahead and stay. Two days later, Lucas finally came home. The first thing he did? He went straight to Mrs. Elliott’s room. I pulled out my phone and opened the hidden camera app, ready to listen in on their conversation. The video quality was excellent, and the sound was crystal clear. All thanks to my assistant. The moment we left the church that day, I’d called her. “Drop everything and buy a set of discreet hidden cameras. I want them installed in Lucas’s studio, Mrs. Elliott’s room, the living room, and the kitchen. The rest? Use your judgment.” My assistant, though surprised, had worked for me for five years. She knew better than to ask too many questions and executed the task flawlessly. By the time we got back home, everything was set up. I even spent a few minutes looking around and couldn’t spot a single one. Since then, I’d been checking the footage periodically. Mrs. Elliott had been busy, alright—rushing around nonstop, buying all sorts of supplies for her precious “grandchild.” Now, on the screen, I saw Mrs. Elliott’s face practically glowing with joy. “Well?” she asked eagerly. “How’s my darling grandbaby? Behaving, isn’t he?” Lucas beamed, looking every bit the doting father. “Of course! Almost six months along now. He’s growing perfectly. The doctor even complimented us the other day!” “Good, good, good!” Mrs. Elliott clapped her hands, her excitement bubbling over. “You left so quickly last time, I didn’t get a chance to tell you—did you know the pastor said my sweet grandson is destined to be lucky? A true blessing! But listen, you need to hurry up and get divorced. Don’t let my grandson be born into a mess!” “And you’ve got to stop staying out so much,” she added, lowering her voice. “That dead woman’s going to get suspicious.” Lucas sighed, exasperated. “I know, Mom! But she’s helping me organize a gallery showing in three months—all my work, with some of the biggest names in the industry attending. This is a huge opportunity for me, so I have to keep her happy until it’s over.” “My poor, hardworking son,” Mrs. Elliott cooed sympathetically. “But you’d better buy Natalie a house before the baby’s born. Don’t let her feel neglected. She’s just a kid, giving you a baby without even a proper title.” “I know, Mom,” Lucas grumbled. “But I can’t find the right excuse to ask Naomi for money.” “That dead woman’s got her claws locked tight around the cash,” Mrs. Elliott muttered. “Do you think she’ll leave you with nothing when you divorce?” Dead woman. It was the first time I’d heard how they talked about me behind closed doors. I knew, logically, these two were nothing but deceitful scum. But the pain in my chest came anyway, sharp and unrelenting. Fifteen years. Fifteen years of treating them like my closest family, only to find out they saw me as nothing more than an obstacle. “If she refuses to share, then don’t blame me for being ruthless,” Lucas snarled. “All these years, I’ve had to grovel, swallowing my pride and bending over backward for her. I’ve hated her for so long.” “She wanted to be child-free, so I went along with it—fifteen years without a kid. But if she won’t give me what I deserve, I’ll take it myself. And I won’t feel bad about it.” His face twisted with bitterness, his voice filled with venom. “Son! Don’t do anything illegal—” Mrs. Elliott started nervously. “Relax, Mom,” Lucas interrupted. “I still plan to enjoy my son’s blessings in the future.” At the mention of her “grandson,” Mrs. Elliott’s worry melted away, replaced by a proud, satisfied smile. “You clever boy,” she said with a laugh. My hands trembled as I gripped my phone, every muscle in my body tense. My nails dug into my palm, leaving half-moon marks as I exited the surveillance feed. I took a deep breath and dialed a number. “Hey,” I said, voice steady. “Is that apartment ready?”
After wrapping up a call with my best friend, Lucas walked into the bedroom. The moment he stepped in, he pulled me into his arms with a sheepish smile. “I’m so sorry, babe. That mentor of mine is just too important to me. I really had no choice but to stay with him at the hospital these past two days. But hey, let’s make up for it tonight—our 15th anniversary! Let your husband pamper you properly, okay?” As he spoke, he tried to scoop me up and carry me toward the bathroom. On any other day, this would’ve been part of our playful routine as a couple. But tonight? It made my skin crawl. I pushed him off, slipping out of his grasp, and sighed heavily. “Sorry, honey,” I said, feigning disappointment. “I was planning a surprise for you, but something came up at work, and it’s ruined now.” He looked puzzled. I explained further, lying smoothly: “I was going to buy you a house as a gift for our 15th anniversary. But with the company suddenly running into trouble, I had to pour all my money into fixing things.” For a moment, his face faltered—disappointment flickered in his expression before he quickly caught himself. With the skill of a seasoned actor, he switched back to his role as the devoted husband. “Hey, don’t worry about it, babe! I’ve been freeloading off you for 15 years—I don’t care about houses or cars. As long as you’re okay and the company’s doing well, that’s all that matters to me.” He paused, then added with mock concern, “If things are so bad at work, maybe I should ask Mom to chip in? She could loan you some of her retirement savings to help tide things over.” I immediately waved him off. “Absolutely not! That’s her retirement money—there’s no way I’d even think about touching it!” I sighed again, pretending to lament the missed opportunity. “Don’t worry about the company. I’ll figure it out. It’s just such a shame about that house. It was perfect—great location, newly renovated, and the design was exactly my style. I fell in love with it the moment I saw it.” “Really? That good?” Lucas asked, his interest clearly piqued. “Absolutely,” I said, nodding enthusiastically. “Here, let me show you.” I sent him the listing that my best friend had just forwarded to me—a three-bedroom, two-bathroom apartment with luxurious finishes. It had everything Lucas adored: large, statement-making artwork, tasteful decor, and a sleek, modern aesthetic. As he scrolled through the photos, I added with a wistful tone, “It’s such a steal, too. Just over $100,000! Apparently, the owner’s in financial trouble and can’t keep up with the mortgage. They’re selling it at a loss just to get rid of it quickly. Honestly, if it weren’t for my friend’s insider connections, I’d have never even known about it.” “Only $100,000?” Lucas’s eyes lit up, the bait sinking deeper. “Yup! My best friend would never lie to me. If you don’t believe me, you can call her yourself.” I forwarded my friend’s number to Lucas, watching as he stared at the contact on his screen, clearly deep in thought. Inwardly, I smiled. Hook, line, and sinker. Once you let go of emotions and see things for what they really are, your mind becomes sharper—clearer. But letting him fall for this trap wasn’t enough. Not yet. I adjusted my expression, hesitating for a moment before speaking again, my voice carefully measured. “Honey, there’s… something else I need to tell you. I’m not sure if it’s good news or bad news.”
“I’m pregnant.” As I rested my hand on my flat stomach, there was no joy in my heart. After 15 years, I finally conceived a child of my own. And yet, on the very day I planned to surprise my husband and family with the news, I discovered he already had another woman carrying his baby. The irony was suffocating. What were all those years of effort, pain, and sacrifice even worth now? “Really? That’s amazing!” Lucas stared at the test results in his hands, his face lit up with genuine excitement. There was no mistaking the joy in his eyes. I knew he loved the idea of having kids. He’d always wanted a child, enough to go behind my back and have another woman carry one for him. Then, as if realizing he might have overplayed his enthusiasm, he glanced at me nervously and began to backpedal: “I… I’m sorry, babe. I know you don’t want kids, and I shouldn’t have pushed this on you. That’s why you wanted to stay child-free, right? This is all on me—I should’ve been more careful. Look, it’s up to you. If you want the baby, we’ll keep it. If you don’t, then… we won’t.” Ah, there it was—the perfect “good husband” act. No wonder my friends and family had been singing his praises for the last 15 years. “Really?” I said coolly. “Then let’s not keep it.” His face froze for a moment, but I kept going. “Honestly, with everything going on at work, I don’t think I can handle a pregnancy right now. Things are spiraling out of control—if this continues, the company might go under, and I’ll be drowning in debt. I’m completely burned out as it is. Let’s just go to the clinic in a few days and take care of it.” “Wait, what? What’s going on with the company?” Of course. A selfish man like Lucas would always care more about his own interests than anything else. The moment I mentioned trouble at the company, the baby was no longer his priority. Feigning exhaustion, I explained the “dire situation” at work in painstaking detail, painting the picture of a business on the brink of collapse. While I was at it, I made sure to answer a few staged phone calls from “employees,” all of whom conveniently had bad news to share about the company’s operations. Each time I hung up, I let my frustration boil over in front of him, slamming the company’s accounting books onto the floor with a loud thud. Then, as if desperate, I started making calls to “borrow money,” loudly lamenting my financial troubles for Lucas to hear. Lucas, now visibly stressed, bent down to pick up the scattered papers from the accounting books. His face had darkened, and he looked deeply concerned. That night, for the first time in years, he stayed up late.
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