My CEO Husband Cheated While I Carried His Child

Chapter 3

I pressed myself against the cold marble pillar, my breath shallow as I watched Ethan. For months, he had claimed his workload was too heavy to accompany me to a single prenatal appointment. Yet here he was, darting through Pinecrest Medical Center like a devoted husband—registering, collecting prescriptions, guiding her with gentle hands.

It hit me then. He wasn’t too busy. He just didn’t care enough to try for the woman he’d been married to for seven years.

The lobby buzzed with noise, but all I could focus on was the way Ethan cradled Lila against him, murmuring, "The doctor said light meals and movement are key in the first trimester. Let’s listen this time, alright?"

"Ugh, fine," she whined, pouting. "But it’s your fault! You’re the one who ordered three plates of dumplings."

Ethan chuckled, brushing a strand of hair from her face. "Guilty as charged. My bad for spoiling you."

"Damn right," she smirked, tugging his tie. "But I’ll let it slide… for now."

They looked like a perfect couple—laughing, touching, completely absorbed in each other. Meanwhile, I stood frozen under the hospital’s unforgiving lights, an outsider in my own marriage.

Clutching my belly, I forced myself to walk away. Outside, the sky had opened up, rain slashing down in icy sheets. The wind howled, but the real chill came from watching Ethan shrug off his coat to shield her, tucking her into the passenger seat like something precious.

Then Lila yanked him down by his tie, crashing their lips together. My husband—my husband—cupped her face and kissed her back like he was starving for it. When they finally broke apart, he grinned, swiping his thumb over her smudged lipstick. She retaliated by biting his lower lip, hard.

And he laughed.

As the car started to pull away, Lila rolled down the window. Our eyes met.

"Sophia," she called, voice dripping with triumph. "You lose."

A strange calm settled over me. "It’s okay," I whispered to myself. "He’s just a man."

The moment the car vanished around the corner, I lifted my hand in a slow, final wave. "Ethan," I murmured, "you’re hers now."

Then, with steady fingers, I forwarded every piece of evidence I’d gathered to my mentor—one of the most ruthless divorce attorneys on the East Coast. My child would have everything they deserved, even if it meant burning our past to the ground.

By the time I finished, rainwater had soaked through the hem of my dress. I barely felt it. My phone buzzed—Mom.

"Sophia, I dropped off chicken soup at your place. Where are you and Ethan? You shouldn’t be out in this weather!" Her voice was warm, worried.

Before I could answer, she tutted. "That boy. You’re eight months pregnant, and he’s dragging you around? He better be treating you right."

The dam cracked. I bit my lip so hard I tasted blood, my entire body trembling.

"We’re fine, Mom," I lied, forcing lightness into my tone. "Just grabbing dinner. Ethan’s right here."

A beat. Then, softer: "Drive safe, okay? Text me when you’re home."

I hung up before my voice broke.

And then—finally—I let go.

Alone under the hospital awning, surrounded by strangers and the drumming rain, I sobbed until my ribs ached. Until there was nothing left.