“And besides,” Daniel continued, “you’ve never been able to have kids. So what’s wrong with me adopting one? At least I didn’t mess around outside!”
So, in his mind, my infertility was the problem.
But when we first got married, I did have a child.
Unfortunately, that was when Daniel was diagnosed with liver cancer. To donate part of my liver to save him, I had to terminate the pregnancy even though the baby was already formed.
That damaged my health, making it hard for me to conceive again.
Seeing my cold expression, Daniel finally realized he had said the wrong thing.
“Sweetheart, I didn’t mean it like that. If you can’t accept this, I’ll take the baby back for now. When you come around, we can decide again.”
Afraid of angering me further, Daniel quickly packed up the box and carried the baby away.
Not long after, the devil-avatar girl messaged again:
“Well? Don’t you think my baby looks a lot like his dad?”
My grip on the phone tightened as her taunting words stabbed my heart.
I was almost certain now—this was Daniel’s mistress.
Compelled by a dark impulse, I tapped into her social media feed.
The first post showed a glittering sapphire necklace worth millions.
The caption read:
“Thanks, darling. You know I don’t want to raise a kid, so you sent him to your nagging wife instead! You said this necklace was my compensation.”
That very necklace—I had found it in Daniel’s suit jacket three days ago.
I’d thought he had finally wised up and bought me a gift.
Touched, I had carefully put it back.
But it hadn’t been for me at all.
Hands trembling, I scrolled further.
One photo was from a delivery room: a Black hand and a White hand clasped tightly together.
On the White hand gleamed a diamond ring—the same one Daniel and I had chosen for our wedding.
The caption: “Having a baby alone is scary, but with him, it’s different. He says I’m better than a useless hen who can’t lay eggs!”
The post was dated July 15th.
The very day I had my car accident.
Trapped in the wreckage and bleeding heavily, I had thought I might die.
Struggling, I had called Daniel over and over, but he never answered.
I assumed he was in a meeting and sent him a text:
“I love you. Even without me, you must live strong.”
But in truth, that day he had been with this woman, welcoming her child.
A flood of betrayal and fury consumed me.
I immediately sent screenshots of her posts to a top private investigator:
“You have two days. I want everything on this woman and Daniel.”
The reply came quickly: “Understood.”
As every minute passed, my heart burned with anxiety.
Finally, my phone pinged with a message.
It was a full-body photo of the woman.
No way.
My eyes went wide in shock, my blood rushing in reverse.
Joanna Brown.
An international student from Africa.
My cousin’s best friend, currently interning at my company alongside her.
I had watched her belly grow and personally approved her maternity leave.
Never in my worst nightmares did I imagine the child she carried belonged to my husband.
Daniel returned home soon after.
I slipped my phone away and asked in disbelief:
“Where did you take the baby?”
Daniel, while changing his shoes, answered confidently:
