When I told my husband I was pregnant, he froze. When he saw the ultrasound, he panicked. The next morning, he was gone—no calls, no trace. But I wasn’t about to just let him disappear. I needed answers… and payback.
That morning, I woke up to an unusual silence. Usually, my husband, Max, would already be moving around the apartment: taking a shower, making coffee, or mumbling about the news.
But today… nothing.
I opened my eyes and reached for his side of the bed. Cold. A chill ran down my spine. I sat up and looked around. His suit, which was always carelessly draped over the chair, was gone. My heart pounded as I threw off the covers and rushed into the living room.
Empty.
The kitchen? Spotless.
On the dining table was a single sheet of paper with five words scribbled in his handwriting:
“I’m sorry. I’m not ready.”
I read it over and over again, my brain refusing to process it.
“What?” I whispered, gripping the paper so hard my knuckles turned white.
A sinking feeling spread through me. I ran to the closet—his shirts, gone. His shoes, gone. The bathroom? His cologne, toothbrush, even his towel—gone. I yanked open his drawer in the entryway. Nothing.
He was gone. For real.
Why? How?
I replayed last night in my head.
When I handed Max the envelope with the ultrasound photo, he took it carefully. At first, he smiled, but then… his whole face changed.
“You’re… you’re pregnant?”
“Yes! Isn’t it wonderful?” I had been practically glowing with excitement.
“But… we weren’t planning this…”
“I know, but some things are meant to be, right?”
His jaw tensed. His eyes flicked back to the ultrasound, widening.
“Wait… what is this?”
“It’s twins, Max.”
His arms wrapped around me, but something about the embrace felt… off. I expected joy, reassurance, excitement. Instead, he just got up.
“I need some fresh air.”
And then he left.
I had imagined that moment so differently. I thought he was just overwhelmed in a good way, that maybe he’d come back with a huge bouquet or a giant box of chocolates.
Instead, he didn’t come back at all.
Now, standing in our empty apartment, I clutched my phone.
I called once. No answer. Twice. Three times.
“The number you are trying to reach is currently unavailable.”
I checked my messages. The last one from me, sent last night:
“I’m so happy! I can’t wait until we feel their first kicks together! ❤️”
He hadn’t even read it.
The last one from him? Before dinner:
“Running late. Don’t wait up.”
I had thought nothing of it at the time. Work, business, the usual last-minute meetings. But now, everything clicked into place.
Was he really just scared of being a father? Or was there something else?
I wiped my tears away. If Max thought he could just disappear, he was terribly mistaken.
At first, I believed he just needed time to process things. But days passed, and he didn’t come back.
By the fourth day, my patience had worn thin. If Max wasn’t going to give me answers, I would find them myself.
I started cleaning. Not just to clear my head, but to find something—anything—that could lead me to him.
When I reached the laundry basket, I pulled out a pile of clothes that had been sitting there since I told him I was pregnant. His shirt, trousers… and his jacket, which was at the bottom of the pile.
The same jacket he wore that night.
I brought it to my nose. A faint scent lingered. Soft, floral, unmistakably feminine. And it wasn’t mine.
No. No, no, no.
I frantically turned the jacket inside out, digging into the pockets. Loose change. Crumpled receipts. A folded napkin from a restaurant.
And then… a receipt.
My eyes darted over the details. The purchase wasn’t anything special, but the location…
An address. Neatly written in a woman’s hand.
What if it’s just a random receipt? What if it means nothing?
But deep down, I already knew the truth. It wasn’t just an address. It was a lead.
And I had a gut feeling that I would find my answers there.
That evening, I stood outside a small house on the outskirts of town, my breath shallow.
For thirty minutes, I watched. Long enough to see her arrive—blonde, at least ten years younger than me. She parked her old Jeep, pulled out grocery bags, and disappeared inside.
For herself? Or for Max?
I stepped forward and knocked.
The door opened almost instantly. The woman blinked at me, confused.
“Hi,” I said, my voice cold.
“Hi… Do I know you?”
“You really don’t?”
“No… Should I?”
A few seconds passed before realization hit her. Her face paled.
“I’m Max’s wife.”
Her hands gripped the doorframe. “Wife?” Her voice shook. “Max is… coming soon, but… but you should come in.”
I stepped inside, my eyes scanning the house. Simple, clean, nothing fancy. The kitchen smelled of garlic and rosemary.
She pulled the curtains shut, poured us both a glass of water, and downed hers in a single gulp. She was more nervous than I was.
“I’m Katie,” she finally said. “I’ve been dating Max for six months. I… I swear, I didn’t know he was married.”
I exhaled sharply. She really didn’t know.
Katie rubbed her temples. “How could he…”
At that moment, we weren’t two women on different sides of a betrayal. We were two women standing on the same side of a war.
Katie leaned forward, eyes locked on mine.
“What are we going to do with him?”
A slow, deliciously cruel idea formed in my mind. I lifted my glass, taking a sip.
“I think it’s time Max got a taste of his own medicine.”
Katie smirked. “Tell me more.”
And that was how it all began.
One week later, Max walked into his worst nightmare—a party. A party in his honor. Balloons. Cake. A golden banner that read:
“Congratulations, Daddy-to-Be!”
The room buzzed with laughter and fake joy. And right in the middle of it all—Katie, beaming.
“Surprise!” she said, hugging him. “We’re having twins!”
Max paled. “Twins?”
Katie grinned. “Oh, yes! And tonight, Daddy, that’s not even the biggest surprise.”
Then, I stepped forward.
Max’s face drained of all color. “You… what are you—”
“Oh, Max,” I purred. “You didn’t really think you could run, did you?”
Katie reached for the cake knife. “Time to celebrate, sweetheart.”
Max swallowed hard. “This… this was a setup.”
“No, darling,” Katie smirked. “This was justice.”
And as I watched him drown in his own lies, I knew one thing for sure.
Revenge had never tasted so sweet.
