When My Husband Let His Mistress Destroy Our Baby

The Columbia forum post went live at two in the morning.

I didn't sleep after I uploaded it. I sat in the kitchen with my laptop and watched the replies multiply. Students I'd never met were sharing the thread. Someone screenshotted the ultrasound photo. Someone else recognized Stormi from James's graduate seminar. By dawn, the post had three hundred comments.

I closed the laptop and made coffee.

James came home at eight. I heard his key in the lock. His footsteps in the hall. He appeared in the kitchen doorway with his phone in his hand. His face was red.

"Did you see this?" He held up the screen. "Someone posted about Stormi on the student forum. They posted her ultrasound. They're saying I—" He stopped. His eyes narrowed. "It was you."

I poured my coffee. "Was it?"

"Who else would have access to that photo?"

I added cream. Stirred slowly. "Maybe someone from the hospital. Maybe Stormi herself. Maybe she wanted attention."

"Don't." James crossed the room. He slammed his phone on the counter. "Don't play games with me. You're trying to destroy my career."

I looked at him over the rim of my mug. "Your career?"

"The department chair already called. They're launching an investigation. Do you understand what that means? They could revoke my tenure. They could—"

"Fire you for sleeping with your student?"

His jaw tightened. "This is vindictive. This is cruel. I thought you were better than this."

I set down my coffee. "You thought I was quieter than this."

He stared at me. I stared back. I didn't raise my voice. I didn't cry. I just stood there in my kitchen and let him see exactly how calm I was.

It unsettled him. I could tell.

He grabbed his phone and left. The studio door slammed hard enough to rattle the walls.

I texted Cassidy: *He doesn't know it was me. Yet.*

Her reply came instantly: *Good. Let him sweat.*

Three days passed.

James barely spoke to me. He spent every hour in his studio or at the institute, trying to contain the damage. I heard him on the phone with his lawyer. With the department chair. With Victor Hale, his gallery dealer, who apparently wasn't returning calls.

I packed a suitcase. Not everything. Just enough.

On the fourth morning, I heard voices downstairs.

James. And someone else.

I walked to the top of the stairs and looked down.

Stormi stood in my entryway. She wore a cream sweater and jeans. Her dark hair was pulled back. She looked up and saw me. Her expression didn't change.

"Amber," James said. "We need to talk."

I came down two steps. "About what?"

"About the forum post." Stormi's voice was soft. Careful. "Someone is spreading lies about me. About us. And we think—"

"We?" I looked at James. "You brought her here?"

"She has a right to defend herself," he said.

"In my house?"

"It's my house too."

I descended another step. Stormi moved closer to the base of the stairs. James stayed near the door.

"You posted that ultrasound," Stormi said. Her voice trembled now. Practiced. "You're trying to ruin my life because you're jealous."

I stopped on the landing. "Jealous."

"James loves me. He's going to leave you. And you can't handle it." Her eyes were wet. She pressed her hand to her stomach. "You're attacking a pregnant woman."

I looked at James. He wouldn't meet my eyes.

"Say something," I told him.

He shifted his weight. "Amber, if you would just—"

Stormi stumbled forward. Her hand shot out and grabbed my arm. I tried to pull back. She leaned in close.

"You should've stayed quiet," she whispered.

Then she kicked me.

Her foot drove into my abdomen with deliberate force. The air left my lungs. I lost my balance. The stairs tilted. I reached for the railing but my fingers closed on nothing.

I fell.

The world became edges and impacts. My shoulder hit a step. My head snapped back. My hip cracked against wood. I tumbled down the full flight and landed on the hardwood floor at the bottom.

I couldn't breathe. Pain radiated from my stomach outward. I tasted copper.

Footsteps above me.

I turned my head. Looked up.

James stood on the landing. He stared down at me. His face was pale. His hands hung at his sides.

He didn't move.

Stormi appeared beside him. She straightened her sweater. Smoothed her hair. She looked at me crumpled on the floor.

Then she stepped over me and walked to the door.

"James," she said. "Are you coming?"

He looked at her. Then at me.

He followed her out.

The door closed.

I lay on the floor and stared at the ceiling. The pain in my stomach was wrong. Too sharp. Too deep. I pressed my hand against my abdomen and felt wetness.

I pulled my hand away. Blood.

I reached for my phone. My fingers were shaking. I dialed.

"911, what's your emergency?"

"I fell," I whispered. "I'm pregnant. I'm bleeding."

The operator's voice became urgent. "Stay on the line. Help is coming. Can you tell me your address?"

I gave it to her. Then I closed my eyes and waited.

The last thing I thought before the sirens arrived was that James had watched me fall and done nothing.

And that was the moment I stopped being his wife.