At 7 months pregnant, you don’t expect to be stalking your own sanity.
You expect baby names. Nursery paint. A husband who shows up.
Instead, I got a text: “Working late again tonight. Love you.”
So I put on a dress, took his corporate card, and went to dinner alone.
I walked into the restaurant… and found him already there.
Not with clients.
Not with coworkers.
With her.
And when he leaned in and kissed his secretary across the table, I didn’t cry.
I ordered the most expensive champagne in the building.
