Pregnant Mistress Upstairs, Wife Out for Revenge Below

I stared at the woman's rounded belly, and my whole body went rigid.

In the past, my husband, Julian White, told me we should wait a few years before having a child because his career wasn't stable yet. So, it wasn't that he didn't want one. He just didn't want one with me.

"Hi, can I help you?"

A face peeked out from inside. She wore a loose cotton maternity dress, her hair casually pinned up. When she saw me, there was a flicker of skepticism in her eyes.

"Hi. I live downstairs," I answered, trying to steady my voice and even forcing a friendly neighbor's smile. "I'm really sorry to bother you. I have a cat at home, and it's very mischievous. I must've lost track of it just now."

I tilted my head, as if peeking into the apartment. "It might've climbed up along the balcony railing. Do you think I could come in and take a look?"

It was a clumsy excuse. Julian and I didn't even have a cat.

Luckily, she didn't seem to doubt me. Maybe pregnancy made people a little less guarded.

She smiled and stepped aside to let me in. "Oh, so you're my neighbor. Please, come in! Cats are clever little creatures. You have to be careful not to let it run off."

"Thanks."

I stepped inside. A soft wool rug cushioned my feet, the same brand as the one in my home, only in a lighter shade. The layout of the apartment was exactly like mine, open with a clear view of everything.

Cozy sunlight streamed in through the floor-to-ceiling windows. The air carried a faint scent of a milk-and-lemon diffuser. It was a home carefully arranged, quietly waiting for a new life to arrive.

My gaze swept across the space, scanning every inch. On the living room wall hung an oil painting. My breath caught in my throat.

It was a piece called "Echoes of the Ocean" by a relatively unknown artist. Six months ago, Julian and I saw it at a gallery. I couldn't take my eyes off it.

He had wrapped an arm around my shoulders, his face full of regret as he said, "It's a shame, Mo. Someone mysterious has already reserved it. The gallery said they offered a very high price."

To comfort me, he even asked around for a long time. In the end, he told me the artist had retired and that this painting had become one of a kind, impossible to recreate.

Yet at that moment, that one-of-a-kind piece was hanging there like the masterpiece it was.

"Are you looking at that painting?" the woman asked, walking over with a glass of water as she followed my gaze. The same quiet happiness lit up her face.

"My husband gave it to me. He said it's called 'Echoes of the Ocean', like the way our baby echoes inside my belly," she said slowly, like she was reciting a love poem.

I took the glass from her. The chill from my fingertips seeped into the water. My voice came out a little dry. "Your husband is very thoughtful."

"Can't disagree. He thinks of everything for me." She smiled shyly and lowered herself onto the couch, one hand supporting her back, then asked, "Oh, I didn't even ask your name. I'm Hazel Lowe."

"Monica Sawyer."

I gave my name, but my gaze drifted, drawn toward the nursery by the balcony. The door was halfway open. Inside, everything was already set up.

"Do you think your cat ran into the nursery?" Hazel asked, ready to get up. "I'll go check."

"Oh, it's okay. I'll do it. You should stay seated," I urged her, moving ahead before she could stand.

In the nursery, an exquisite ivory crib stood right in the center. It was a brand I had flipped through countless times in home magazines and saved in my shopping cart, ready to buy the moment we had a child.

I remembered how excited I had been when I showed it to Julian.

He frowned and said, "30 thousand dollars for a crib? Mo, that's too extravagant. It looks nice, but it's not practical. Once the baby grows a little, it won't even be useful anymore. We can just get a solid wood one from a local brand."