Pastel lanterns strung along the fence. Pink and blue ribbons tied to every surface that would hold a knot. Cupcakes iced with little question marks. A catered spread, because both families believed cooking for a crowd was beneath them when a party was on the line.
And in the center of the yard: a giant white reveal box.
The kind you see on social media. The kind that opens and releases either pink or blue balloons like a soft, innocent answer.
Harper insisted she should handle the actual reveal because she was the only one who knew what we were having.
“I want to be involved,” she said when I offered to let her help with other things. “I’m going to be the aunt. This matters to me too.”
I laughed.
“Fine,” I said. “Just don’t mess it up.”
Harper gave me that sweet smile I’d trusted my whole life.
“I would never.”
It’s funny how quickly “never” becomes “already.”
3. The Phone That Shattered My World
Two days before the party, I was on the couch in that first-trimester exhaustion haze where you could fall asleep mid-thought.
Blake was in the shower, humming classic rock like our life was clean and ordinary and uncracked. Like guilt wasn’t chewing through him from the inside.
A phone buzzed on the coffee table.
I reached for it without thinking.
Same model as mine. Same protective case. I assumed it was my phone.
It wasn’t.
A message notification lit up the screen from a contact saved as a red heart emoji.
Just: 
The preview text read:
“I can’t wait to see you again. Same time tomorrow, darling
.”
My entire body went cold.
Not just my skin—my bones. My blood. It felt like someone had poured ice directly into my veins.
For a few seconds, my mind tried to build a harmless explanation because brains do that when the truth is too sharp.
Wrong number.
Spam.
A friend being stupid.
Some kind of prank.
But my fingers were already opening the thread before my brain could stop them.
And the messages weren’t harmless.
They weren’t even ambiguous.
Flirting. Explicit plans. Familiar language that wasn’t meant for a husband talking to his wife.
And Blake typing things like:
“Delete this after you read it.”
“She doesn’t suspect anything.”
