My Husband Stole My Pregnancy Money to Buy His Dream Girl a Purse

Even in my dreams, the cramping in my abdomen kept me tossing and sweating.

Just when I'd finally found some peace, my front door exploded open.

Someone grabbed my shoulders and shook me awake roughly.

"Kandice, get up! What lies have you been spreading about me?"

I blinked awake to Daniel’s furious face inches from mine.

"Tell me the truth—did you post something calling Wendy a homewrecker?"

“Look!” he shouted, shoving his phone at me.

It was a post dripping with passive-aggressive digs about a certain woman’s morals.

“How would I even know this person?” I snapped, propping myself up on the couch.

“It had to be you! Wendy’s in tears over it!”

He refused to listen, gripping my arm so hard it hurt.

I jerked free.

"Daniel, where's your brain? If someone posts about a homewrecker and she takes it personally, doesn't that prove she's guilty?"

Looking at this raving man, I wondered how I had ever thought him gentle or kind.

“You are a venomous woman,” he sneered. “You always tried to control me. Now you pull these petty stunts too!”

Tears burned my eyes, but I stared him down.

“Wendy was right about you. You're a manipulative psycho. You've always tried to control my life, and now you're playing these pathetic games behind my back."

Danel towered over me as tears of pain and frustration rolled down my cheeks.

"Then go be with your precious Wendy! Why are you still here? Oh right—you're terrified people will find out you're a cheater. Might damage that 'devoted boyfriend' brand you've been selling."

I was done being his punching bag. Time to rip off his pretence.

Daniel had no comeback. Humiliated and enraged, he raised his hand to strike me.

I met his gaze without flinching.

"Go ahead. Let's see if I press charges first or you actually follow through."

I hadn't always been this passive. Life had just slowly worn down my fighting spirit.

Daniel’s constant criticism had ground away my sharp edges over the years.

His hand hovered in the air, face twisted with rage, like he might actually hit me.

Then Wendy’s ringtone cut through the tension.

The man who'd been ready to assault me instantly transformed, answering with honey in his voice.

"Hey Wendy, what's wrong?"

I didn't bother listening to their conversation, just checked whether my incision had reopened from his rough handling.

From Daniel’s guilty glances in my direction, I could piece together their discussion.

Sure enough, he put the call on speaker at the end.

"Sorry for the confusion, Kandice! Turns out that person was just venting about some TV show drama."

After hanging up, Daniel pocketed his phone sheepishly.

He disappeared into the kitchen while I sat there laughing at the absurdity.

When he returned, he carried a steaming bowl of soup.

"Made this especially for you. Tell me what you think."

He set the hot pumpkin bisque in front of me, looking like a golden retriever waiting for praise.

I was too drained to call out his obvious lie. I simply pushed the bowl away.

"Don't want it. Take it back."

His eager smile crumbled. He yanked off his apron and hurled it to the floor.

"What is wrong with you, Kandice? I'm trying to make things right and you're still acting like I owe you the world!"

While he raged, I sank back into the couch cushions, almost entertained by his performance.

"I'm allergic to pumpkin."

Daniel stormed out, slamming the door hard enough to rattle the windows.

He stormed out.

In the past, I would have worried about where he was going or who he was with.

Now, his absence felt like relief.

For the next two weeks, Daniel didn’t contact me.

Then one day, while I was getting a massage, he finally called.

"Kandice, clean yourself up for tomorrow night's company gala. Don't say I never do anything nice for you. Consider it compensation for... you know. Just don't embarrass me in front of important people."

His tone dripped condescension, like he was throwing scraps to a stray dog. I could hear Wendy’s giggle in the background.

I stared at my phone after he hung up, a slow smile spreading across my face.

"Marcus, I realised I was wrong all along. I need a favor from you…”

I pulled an old phone from a shoebox under my bed, charged it up, and scrolled to my brother's contact.

I used to despise my family's obsession with money and status.

But after being burned this badly, I'd learned something important: cold, calculating relatives weren't the worst thing in the world.

The worst thing was people who made you trust them, then stabbed you in the back.

And backstabbers deserved everything that was coming to them.