He Thanked The Wrong Wife

[My beloved Margot.]

So. The woman had a name.

Margot Danby. The "poor student" he mentioned all the time.

A stack of receipts slipped out of the diary.

Each one hit harder than the last.

Baby supplies—$5,000.

Postnatal retreat reservation—$8,000.

Luxury downtown apartment, down payment—$100,000.

I bit my lip until I tasted blood.

The date he paid that apartment down payment—

Was the exact day of my second miscarriage.

That day, he told me he'd just renewed a year of rehab fees and couldn't afford the hospital for a painless procedure. Ordered abortion pills online instead.

He even blamed himself. Promised that once he graduated, he'd make it up to me. Give me a good life.

Guess he did get a good life.

It just didn't include me.

***

The more I thought about it, the angrier I got.

I skipped meals. Wore the same old clothes. Gave him the best of everything.

And he couldn't stand the smell of fish on me. Acted like my sacrifices were nothing.

The money I earned before sunrise and after midnight?

He used it to build a cozy little life with another woman.

Four years.

I'd been raising a monster.

And I wasn't about to let it end like this.

I crouched down, gathered every receipt, and kept them.

Evidence.

When Edward got home, he was practically glowing.

He held up a cheap cake box. "Bakery had a sale. Got you a cake to celebrate."

I took it without a word.

Maybe guilt made him chatty.

"The hooding ceremony was boring as hell. The president wouldn't shut up. Almost fell asleep. Good thing you didn't come—you would've hated it."

My eyes dropped to the price tag.

$19.90.

"I heard family of outstanding grads get invited onstage. That true?"

Edward's smile stiffened.

His eyes flickered, then he waved it off. "Don't listen to rumors. It's academic politics. Complicated. No point stressing over it. You wouldn't get it anyway."

That one stung.

The cake box almost crumpled in my grip.

His phone rang.

"Just a buddy calling to say congrats," he muttered, already rushing outside.

I watched him walk away.

Steady. Easy. Agile.

So much for the helpless patient.

I followed.

His voice dropped soft. Gentle.

"Margot, don't cry. Of course I love you. Once I lock in the faculty position tomorrow, I'll divorce her. I'll give you and the baby a real family."

So that was the plan.

The second his golden future started—

I was trash.

My hands shook as I recorded every word.

Then I slid down the wall and sobbed.

I refused to accept it.

That night, after Edward fell asleep, I picked up his phone for the first time.

The pinned chat had no profile picture.

Contact name: Starry.

The chat window was empty.

I opened the timeline.

The latest post was from this afternoon.

[Happy graduation, my doctorate hubby.]

The photo showed Edward holding his diploma, arm around Margot onstage.

My vision blurred as I kept scrolling.

Yesterday:

[Better dress up. The doctor's wife has to attend the hooding ceremony!]

Margot in a white dress, up on her toes, kissing him.

Last week:

[Our little miracle.]

A sonogram.

Twenty-four weeks pregnant.

I couldn't look anymore. I lifted the phone, ready to smash it against Edward's head.

Another notification popped up.

Margot had posted again.

[Our new home is ready—double celebrations!]

[Tomorrow's Edward's job celebration and our housewarming. Friends, come join us!]

[10:00 AM, Summit Heights Residence Unit 1006. Our little family of three will be waiting!]