He would apologize.
He would blame stress.
He would blame temptation.
He would blame me for “being distant.”
Harper would cry too. She’d say it just happened, like cheating is slipping on a banana peel instead of a choice made over and over.
And somewhere in the mess, someone would eventually suggest I was “overreacting,” because pregnant women are emotional, right? Irrational. Dramatic.
No.
If betrayal was going to happen in my life, it wasn’t going to stay behind closed doors.
4. The Performance of a Lifetime
The next morning, Blake kissed my forehead and told me he loved me like it was nothing.
Then he left for “work.”
The second his car disappeared down the street, I picked up his phone again.
My hands were steadier now. Not because I wasn’t hurt.
Because I was decided.
I screenshotted everything.
Every message. Every plan. Every “darling.” Every “delete this.” Every cruel sentence about me being “too distracted with the pregnancy stuff.”
Names visible. Dates visible. Time stamps visible.
No wiggle room.
No plausible deniability.
Then I called Harper.
I kept my voice light. Cheerful, even.
“Hey,” I said. “Just checking in. The reveal box is ready for Saturday, right?”
Harper didn’t hesitate.
“Yep! All set. You’re going to absolutely freak out.”
I smiled so hard my cheeks hurt.
“You always take care of me,” I said sweetly.
There was a tiny pause on the other end.
“Of course,” she replied. “I’m your sister.”
After I hung up, I cried once.
Ugly. Fast. Brutal.
Like my body needed to purge the poison before my mind could move.
Then I wiped my face, drank water, and got practical.
Because pregnancy teaches you another truth nobody warns you about:
You don’t get to fall apart completely.
You still have to eat. Sleep. Breathe. Keep your baby safe.
So I planned.
5. The Party Supply Shop That Became My Accomplice
I called a party supply shop across town—somewhere Blake and Harper would never think to look.
A woman answered, bright and chipper.
“Hi! How can I help you today?”
“I need a custom reveal box filled with balloons,” I said. “But not pink or blue.”
“Okay,” she said cautiously. “What colors did you have in mind?”
