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I found a folder on my husband's phone named after his ex-girlfriend, filled with evidence of their affair. My eyes scanned the messages, and my heart shattered. Sweet words, playful teasing, promises that could no longer be dismissed as mere nostalgia. Even two months ago, a meeting at a hotel. Tears streamed down uncontrollably. My hands were trembling as I held his phone, but I forced myself to keep reading. There was even information showing that he had sent her money—more than once. After forwarding the file to my own phone, I couldn't hold myself together any longer. I broke down, sobs tearing out of me. Adrian stirred, then immediately sat up in alarm when he saw me shaking, tears pouring down my face. "Elena? What's wrong?" His voice was hoarse, laced with panic, his eyes wide as they searched mine. "Are you hurt?" Yes, I was hurt. My heart hurt. His concern, which once made me feel loved, now seems utterly hypocritical. I threw the phone at him forcefully. "You. You cheated on me." ———————— Elena Tonight, I couldn't sleep at all. The baby was quiet, resting peacefully inside me, yet my own body refused to surrender to rest. After the exhausting yet joyful baby shower earlier today, I should have drifted off easily, but I didn't. My hand instinctively moved to my swollen belly, gently rubbing the curve. In just three more months, I would finally be holding my baby, the little one we had been waiting for years. Adrian had fallen asleep first. His mouth was slightly open, a sign of deep slumber. I smiled faintly, feeling warmth as I looked at him. He must be exhausted. He worked as a Division Head at a construction company, and in the construction world - especially during critical periods - days off were a rare luxury. With everything on his plate, he still managed to make time for this weekend. I reached for my phone on the nightstand. Usually, when I couldn't sleep, I scrolled through Instagram, checking news or just catching up on the latest updates. Suddenly, Adrian's phone lit up. I glanced over. It was almost twelve at night, who would be messaging him this late? Hesitant, I picked up his phone. We respected each other's privacy, but there was no rule against checking one another's phones. And it turned out to be just a message from the work group chat. I was about to put the phone back, but somehow my fingers lingered, scrolling through chats, opening sports group messages, office conversations. Everything seemed normal. Then I opened the gallery. Mostly pictures of company projects, and the latest ones were candid shots of me from earlier today, taken quietly when I wasn't looking. My heart warmed slightly, but my curiosity didn't stop there. I scrolled through a folder that seemed to hold nothing but ordinary office documents. But then one file made me freeze. Its name was simple - Phoebe - yet the moment I read it, I felt a sudden squeeze in my chest. A name once mentioned in passing long ago, buried in the past. My hands trembled as I opened the file. Inside were records of conversations between Adrian and her. Their chats stored neatly, whether intentionally or not, I didn't know. My eyes scanned the messages, and my heart shattered. Sweet words, playful teasing, promises that could no longer be dismissed as mere nostalgia. And two months ago, a meeting at a hotel. Tears streamed down uncontrollably. My hands were trembling as I held his phone, but I forced myself to keep reading. There was even information showing that he had sent her money, apparently she was in debt, and Adrian had helped her. After forwarding the file to my own phone, I couldn't hold myself together any longer. I broke down, sobs tearing out of me. Adrian stirred, then immediately sat up in alarm when he saw me shaking, tears pouring down my face. "Elena? What's wrong?" His voice was hoarse, laced with panic, his eyes wide as they searched mine. "Are you hurt?" I shook my head as my trembling hand struck his chest. "You. You cheated on me." He stunned, his expression unraveling into disbelief. "What are you talking about?" He reached for my hand, but I jerked away. The sobs tore through me even harder. "I know, Adrian. I know about Phoebe." "Elena-" "Screw you, Adrian. How? How could you-" Adrian pulled me into his arms, holding me tightly. "I'm sorry, Elena." I struggled against him, pushing at his chest, but he only held me tighter, as if letting go meant losing me entirely. I broke down against his shoulder, sobbing uncontrollably. Adrian stroked my back, trying - failing - to soothe me. When I finally managed to breathe, I whispered, "I want a divorce." Adrian's arms loosened. He pulled back just enough to grip my upper arms, his eyes locked onto mine. "What are you saying, Elena?" His voice was rough, caught between confusion and dread, yet he knew. He had to. "I want a separation. I want a divorce." I repeated, steadier this time. "No. No, you can't." Adrian shook his head, almost violently. "I read your chats with her!" I screamed, my voice fracturing under the weight of betrayal. "Elena..." His voice came out pleading. "I want a divorce!" I repeated, sobs wrenching through my body. "Please. Please. Don't say that." The words tumbled out of him. "Let me explain, Elena, Love. Please." I glared at him through swollen, tear-stained eyes. "I've read everything, Adrian. Everything." The flicker of shock in his eyes was all the confirmation I needed. He still held my arm, his grip steady, desperation written in every line of his face. "Elena, please, forgive me. I was wrong -" "I'm pregnant, Adrian. For God's sake, I'm carrying your child. And you -" My voice cracked, my whole body trembling with anger and heartbreak. "Don't say divorce. Please. I'm sorry," he whispered, almost in fear, his voice raw with regret. I shoved his hands away. "I hate you so much." With a sob, I hurled his phone toward him. He caught it, his eyes falling on the screen still open to the damning conversation. His face collapsed under the weight of guilt, but I no longer cared. That night, I discovered the man I believed to be faithful was cheating on me with another woman. That night, the marriage I trusted to be strong fractured at its core. And that night, the world I thought was perfect collapsed. And now, with my swollen belly carrying a new life, I stood before an impossible choice: to stay and endure the pain or to walk away. Adrian She was supposed to be nothing, just a part of my past that resurfaced unexpectedly. Our brief encounter at the reunion, I thought it ended there. "You know, I actually had a crush on you back then," she said, swirling her teacup. "Really? I thought you liked Will. You were closer to him." "Yeah, but you seemed distant." "Because Will liked you, and I thought you liked him too." She smiled faintly. "Just imagine if I had known. We'd probably be-" She let the sentence fade. I didn't respond. I took a slow sip of my coffee instead, letting my eyes drift toward our friends across the room. After the reunion, she reached out again. Small messages at first, harmless questions, little memories she suddenly remembered. And although I was careful, although a part of me wanted to keep my distance, another part of me... didn't. Talking to her felt effortless, almost nostalgic, like slipping back into a version of myself I hadn't been in years. It reminded me of simpler times: college hallways, late-night basketball games, deadlines that didn't crush me the way dozens of massive projects do now. I rarely met her in person. She lived out of town and had never attended any of our reunions before, the last reunion had been her first time joining. But even if she had lived in the same city, I still wouldn't have seen her often. My job kept me moving from city to city, living out of suitcases and temporary hotel rooms. And whenever I was home, of course I chose to spend my time with Elena rather than anyone else. Then one day, Phoebe came to Michigan. She asked if I could meet her because there was something important she needed to talk about, something she couldn't discuss over a call or through chat. At the cafe, she looked smaller than I remembered. She told me about her divorce, the debts her ex-husband left her with, and the two young children she was now raising mostly on her own. Then came the part she said quietly, almost as if afraid the words might break her again: the years of hidden bruises she covered with makeup, the violence she endured inside a marriage no one knew was falling apart. "I know this is a lot, Adrian. I know you don't owe me anything. But I need help. Just until I can stand again. " She hesitated before adding, "Six months. I'll pay you back, I promise." I took a breath, weighing the past against the life I had now. "Okay," I said finally. "I'll help. Until you get back on your feet." Her shoulders slumped with relief. Her eyes softened as she whispered, "Thank you. I'll never forget this." I told myself it was nothing. Just a good deed. A small kindness. Nothing more. After that last meeting, I thought that was it. But she kept slipping back into my life, little by little. At first, it was harmless, just casual conversations between old friends. Then the messages grew warmer, lighter, a little too playful. Before long, it felt like we were maintaining some kind of long-distance... something. Not a relationship, but not just friendship either. Something in the gray, something I should've shut down before it became a crack in the life I'd built. And maybe that was the problem. The thrill I felt around Phoebe wasn't desire. It was a fleeting rush, a pathetic echo of youth, the ego-boost of being wanted the way I once was in college. A nostalgia for a version of myself I should've outgrown. But what happened at the hotel... that was never something I planned. I was out of town for a project inspection, and by coincidence, the site was in the same city where Phoebe lived. She dropped by my hotel that evening, asking if we could grab dinner. We walked together, looking for a restaurant near the hotel. After dinner, we ended up at a bar. We drank more than we should have, the kind of drinking that blurs judgment and weakens resolve. Alcohol fogged my thoughts, and loneliness has a way of whispering lies in your ear. I remember the softness of her lips when she smooched me outside the bar. The way my back hit the wall of my hotel room. Her fingers tugging at my shirt. And then nothing but blurred heat- a mistake, a moment of weakness, and the single decision I would spend years regretting. The next morning, I woke to the sound of my own heartbeat pounding in my ears. Phoebe was undressed beside me. "Screw." The word scraped out of me like gravel. I lurched off the bed, nearly tripping as I grabbed my pants. "What the heck-Phoebe, what did we-screw!" She sat up, clutching the sheet. "Adrian, calm down." "Calm down?" I snapped. "I'm married-Elena, God-what have I done?" I pressed both hands into my hair, pulling. My pulse hammered so hard I felt it in my teeth. Phoebe watched me quietly, then said, "It doesn't have to ruin your life." "This is ruining my life!" She flinched but continued, "Just... keep helping me with the debt. I won't tell anyone." I stared at her, nausea rising so fast I had to grip the wall. "Phoebe, this can't happen again," I whispered. "Ever." "I know." "I mean it. Last night-last night was a mistake." "Okay," she said gently. "Then let's pretend it never happened." Pretend. God, if only I could. Two months later, I began to suspect that her debts weren't what she claimed. The numbers didn't add up, and the six months she had promised slowly stretched into something indefinite. Every payment I made raised one more question, one more doubt. That was when I decided I needed to pull away from her, completely. And after that, I would tell Elena everything. I would face her, beg for forgiveness, do whatever it took. Because no matter how badly I had failed her, I knew I couldn't lose her. Elena was the one thing I refused to let slip away. But I chose to wait until after she gave birth. I didn't want to burden her, or risk stressing her when she was so close to the end of the pregnancy. I told myself I was protecting her... but the truth was I was scared. Scared of hurting her, scared of what she would see when she looked at me, scared of losing the life we had built. But the truth doesn't wait. It doesn't stay buried. And in the end, Elena found out first because of my own stupidity, leaving those messages where she could find them.

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My eyes scanned the messages, and my heart shattered. Sweet words, playful teasing, promises that could no longer be dismissed as mere nostalgia. Even two months ago, a meeting at a hotel.