The Husband I Knew
Our bodies tangled in the car.
My husband moved inside me, lips claiming my chest, when the sudden ring of a phone ripped me out of our intoxicating haze.
Gabriel answered without hesitation.
It was one of his closest friends from the medical world, speaking in German.
“Don,” the voice said casually, “your mistress is two months pregnant. What are you going to do?”
Gabriel didn’t pause. His tone was calm.
“Grace can’t have children,” he replied. “I’ll let her carry the baby to term, then adopt it as my own. That secures the heir. This stays between us.”
Something inside me froze.
The one thing he had forgotten—
I majored in German.
And he learned it just to win me.
I didn’t scream. I didn’t confront him.
Instead, I smiled, stayed quiet, and kept playing the perfect wife.
Later, I slipped the divorce papers into a real estate contract and watched him sign without reading. Then I quietly registered a new identity.
For the next three days, his absence—and her taunting messages—erased the last illusions I had about love.
When my new identity finally went live, I walked away without looking back.
Carrying his child.
And disappearing from his world forever.