Given Six Months to Live, I Took Everything From My Lying Husband

Juliana's POV

People say pregnancy is supposed to be the happiest time of your life.

I used to believe that. I used to collect Pinterest boards of nursery ideas and baby shower themes, thinking that once the third trimester hit, I would be glowing in soft pastels, holding hands with my husband as we argued over baby names.

Instead, I sat alone in a cold hospital chair, the scratchy gown clinging to my damp skin, one hand resting protectively over my swollen belly. Eight months in, and I was heavier than ever, aching in ways I never imagined… physically, emotionally, existentially.

The doctor’s voice echoed in my mind, even after he left the room.

“Stage 3. Aggressive. We recommend immediate treatment. Chemotherapy, possibly surgery post-delivery.”

The printout in my hand confirmed it.

Juliana Rivers. Stage III Adenocarcinoma. Immediate action required.

I stared at the letters, at my name beside the diagnosis, like it belonged to someone else. Someone not carrying a child. Someone not married to Marcus Hawthorne. Someone not expected to smile through betrayal and still show up for her baby shower in two days.

Tears prickled, but I didn’t let them fall. Not yet. I needed air.

Gripping the armrest, I pushed myself up and stepped into the hallway. My legs trembled beneath me. Everything felt heavier, like gravity was trying to pin me to the floor. The fluorescent lights buzzed above me, humming like static in my chest.

Then I heard it. A laugh. Familiar. Bright. Out of place.

And then… “Savannah, you really didn’t need to call me for every appointment.”

Marcus.

I froze. My husband’s voice. Calm. Soft. Warm in a way it hadn’t been for me in months.

I turned slowly, my heart knocking into my ribs. I followed the sound down the corridor toward the OB wing… where I should have been seen today, if he hadn’t claimed he had a last-minute meeting.

I found them tucked in the corner of the waiting room, a picture-perfect scene I would never forget.

Marcus. My husband. Sitting beside Savannah Lee, my childhood best friend-turned-traitor, his hand resting on her rounded belly with such casual intimacy, I almost convinced myself I was dreaming.

But I wasn’t.

She giggled, tucking her blonde curls behind her ear like she used to in high school. “Well, it’s your baby too. I want him to hear your voice.”

My stomach turned.

“I told you I’d be here for both of you,” Marcus said. He brushed her hair back… an old habit. One he used to do to me. “We’re in this together now.”

Together.

The word detonated in my chest.

I stood there frozen for a moment, taking it all in. The closeness. The familiarity. The betrayal. It wasn’t just physical… it was deliberate. Deep. Old.

Savannah saw me first.

She stiffened, then shifted into her signature fake innocence. Her eyes widened. Her hand clutched her bump like she was protecting something sacred.

“Juliana! I… this isn’t what it looks like.”

I walked toward them, slowly, like I might explode if I moved too fast.

“Oh?” I said, waving the paper in my hand like a flag of surrender. “So you’re not playing happy family with my husband while I was twenty feet away being told I have cancer?”

Marcus stood up like I’d slapped him. “Jules…”

“Don’t.” My voice cut sharp. “You said you had a meeting.”

“I…I didn’t mean for this to come out like this. I was going to tell you

…”

I shook my head. “No. You were never going to tell me anything. You were going to let me carry your child and die thinking I still mattered to you.” He opened his mouth, but nothing came out.

Savannah tried again, voice trembling just enough to sound rehearsed. “I didn’t mean for this to happen, Juliana. It just… did. We didn’t plan it. Marcus was confused. Lonely.”

“Oh,” I said with a bitter laugh. “So my husband fell into your uterus by accident?” Her mouth fell open.

I held up the report, my voice shaking. “Do you know what this is? This is the reason I came to the hospital alone today. While you two were over here playing house, I was finding out if I’d live long enough to see my son graduate kindergarten.”

Marcus stepped forward. “You’re sick?”

“Stage three,” I said coldly. “And I was going to come home and tell you. Cry in your arms. Let you hold me. But you weren’t home. You were here. With her.”

He looked like he had been shot. But he didn’t deny it. He didn’t reach for me.

Instead, Savannah gasped dramatically, clutching her bump. “Oh my God… Marcus, I feel dizzy.”

And like a well-trained dog, he moved. Toward her. Not me. Held her like she was the one falling apart.

And I knew. I knew. I was on my own. I took a step back. No tears. No more pleading. No more waiting for a man who never showed up.

“You made your choice,” I said. Marcus looked back at me, his face torn. “I hope she was worth it.” Then I turned around.

I didn’t look back. Not when he called my name. Not when Savannah smirked behind his shoulder.

I just walked.