Nine Months Pregnant, I Left My Husband Novel – When I was nine months pregnant, I received an email with an electronic bank statement. My husband, Daniel Hart, had been transferring $30,000 to the same woman every month without fail. The first payment was dated back two years, right around the time we lost our first child.
Then, as if on cue, my phone chimed with a messenger notification from her. It was a friend request, along with a note that read: ‘The happy woman who gets $30,000 in pocket money every month.’ I felt an eerie calm wash over me, almost unnatural. As I stroked my belly, I clicked ‘accept.’ —— Immediately, a message popped up: ‘Did you get the bank statement?’ Ignoring it, I went straight to her account profile. The earliest post was from two years ago, on April 21. In the photo, she leaned gently on a man’s shoulder, her hand resting on him,
showcasing a massive diamond ring. The caption read: ‘Thank you for the birthday gift, love!’ Although only the man’s back was visible, I recognized him instantly. It was Daniel. My husband. He was wearing the shirt I had bought him during a business trip, the one with intricate embroidery on the collar. Two years ago, April 21, was the day I lost our first child. While I lay in the cold, sterile operating room, undergoing a D&C procedure, my ‘on-a-business-trip’ husband was celebrating another woman’s birthday.
The irony was almost suffocating. My hands trembled as I scrolled further through her posts. Since that day, she had been flaunting all kinds of luxury items, each one identical to things I owned, except for one. A jasmine-scented perfume. Then I saw her most recent post, pinned at the top. It was an ultrasound image. She was pregnant. I dropped my phone, my heart pounding, and frantically searched through the dirty laundry basket.
I found the shirt Daniel had worn the night before. Lifting it to my nose, the unmistakable scent of jasmine hit me. I never wear perfume. When I didn’t respond to the message, the person on the other end grew impatient. My phone buzzed again and again as photos and videos came flooding in. Clutching my belly, I sank onto the couch, struggling to breathe.