My Husband Chose Her Dogs Over Me

Chapter 7

The night Leanna posted that video, my world shattered. There was Franco bursting through hospital doors with her in his arms, his face twisted with worry—but if you looked close at the glass reflection, you could see her smirking like the cat who got the cream. Her caption said it all: [True love? Didn't even need to test him.] Followed by that knife-twisting post: [To the new mom—do everyone a favor and step aside. If he doesn't love you, make room for someone he does.]

I remember calling Franco that night, tears soaking my pillow—only to hear his phone ring in the next room. The instant hang-up. His lame excuse later about some "friend's emergency." Then Leanna's social media bomb: that recording of her fake-apologetic ["Did I ruin your plans?"] and Franco's soothing ["Just a telemarketer, sweetheart. I'm staying right here."]

After that, Leanna flaunted their affair like she was waving a victory flag. Franco? His love for me evaporated like morning dew. But I clung to one hope—we had Alec. Our son would anchor him to us.

Then came the second pregnancy.

Franco lost it when I showed him the test. He hurled the ultrasound photos across the room like they were trash. ["Are you trying to drown me, Mara? You took advantage when I was drunk—couldn't even bother with Plan B!"] Our toddler wailed as I rocked him, remembering how Franco had slurred ["Let's make a baby"] that night—words I now realized were meant for her, not me.

When doctors said it was twins? I couldn't go through with the termination. Franco's response? An emotional deep freeze. Later, I'd learn he'd been playing nurse to Leanna after her "suicide attempt"—his pathetic excuse about ["just keeping watch"] making me sick.

For the kids' sake, I endured. Until Franco chose her over all three of our children.

Now, kneeling at my mother's grave with cleaning supplies still on my hands, the memories gutted me. Last time I was here, I'd dragged Franco along, gushing ["Mom, meet the love of my life!"] while her memorial candle flickered approval. Today? I came bearing three unborn grandchildren she'd never meet.

["I failed you,"] I whispered, choking on tears. ["Take care of Alec and the twins up there. Next life... let me be your daughter again so I can—"]

The crunch of gravel cut me off. Then that voice—the one I never wanted to hear again—cracked through the silence. He grabbed my arm with desperate strength, but I didn't even turn. Some wounds never heal.