When I was three months pregnant, my husband's mistress sued me—and then demanded that I abort my baby.
She said, "As a fellow woman, I'm giving you one last chance. Write a statement promising to cut ties with my husband and get rid of the child, and I'll withdraw the lawsuit. I won't make you pay."
So in her mind, I was the mistress.
A sudden chill ran through my body, but I forced myself to look calm as I met her gaze.
However, she mistook my silence for guilt, her posture growing even more condescending—like a legitimate wife scolding an interloper.
"You're an educated woman. You don't want me blowing this up and ruining your entire social life, do you?"
A cold smile tugged at the corner of my lips.
She had investigated everything—everything except the fact that I had a marriage certificate with the man she called her husband.
Just then, a message from Gerald popped up on my phone.
[Stella has a strong sense of morality. If she finds out she's actually the other woman, she won't be able to bear it.]
[I'll make it up to you. For now, just go along with her.]
Two short lines—and they shattered me completely.
I took out my marriage certificate and slid it across the table toward her.
"Miss, you missed a rather important detail."
——
She froze.
Her expression twisted, but she still snatched up the document and opened it quickly.
When her eyes landed on the registration information, her face turned even uglier.
Her fingers trembled as she held the booklet.
I watched her quietly, though the storm in my chest was no less violent than hers.
This was the first time I'd ever had to deal with Gerald's infidelity.
And I knew it would also be the last.
The woman finally set the certificate down and pushed it back toward me. Then—pretending to be perfectly composed—she opened her bag and took out another marriage certificate, sliding it to me.
"Ms. Ruiz, do you think I'd sit here in front of you if I weren't absolutely certain?"
I picked it up and opened it.
My hands trembled when I saw the date.
May 20th.
The same day we registered our marriage.
The pain was suffocating—like my heart was being crushed from the inside.
"You forged this," I said quietly. "Trying to cover up your lie?"
Stella kept her 'rightful wife' posture, lifting her chin proudly.
I met her eyes without backing down. "Why don't you ask your husband whether it's real or fake? Or better yet, why don't the three of us talk together?"
She clearly hated my attitude, as if I were provoking her.
"Gerald is busy. I won't let him waste time on trivial things like this."
"I won't be swayed by you. I trust him."
As she spoke, she somehow began convincing herself instead of me.
"Men always have mistresses. Which rich, powerful man doesn't? Who hasn't tasted what's outside?"
When she said "tasted," she dragged out the word deliberately, turning it filthy.
"I came today to show you respect as the mistress."
"But if you keep shamelessly clinging to my husband, don't blame me for what happens next."
Her gaze sharpened, waiting for me to break and admit fault.
I let out a soft, cold laugh.
"Ms. Barnes, has it ever occurred to you that you might be the other woman?"
"I think both of us are victims here. We shouldn't be fighting each other. All of this—every bit of it—started because of Gerald."
"He's the one who owes us an explanation. Not you to me, and not me to you."
She sneered, looking at me like I was a stubborn fool refusing to accept reality.
"So you thought you were the real wife? Fine. Let me convince you."
She unlocked her phone and played a video.
On the screen, I saw my mother-in-law, my husband, and my brother-in-law celebrating Stella and Gerald's fifth wedding anniversary.
There was also a little boy—around three years old—whom I had never seen before.
