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My heart stopped. “What?”
“I’m thirteen weeks along,” she said softly. “I found out three days after you told me about the affair.”
“Prenatal checkups,” she said simply. “They’re more frequent in the first trimester, especially at my age.”
I couldn’t breathe. “Why didn’t you tell me?”
She sat across from me, folding her hands. “Because I didn’t know what I wanted yet. You had just confessed to betraying me, and then I learned I was carrying your child. I needed time to decide what to do — about the baby, about us.”
The Truth
I asked about the sudden kindness — the meals, the smiles, the notes.
“That was me protecting myself and the baby,” she said. “Stress is dangerous in pregnancy. Anger, resentment — they don’t help anyone. So I made a choice. I chose calm. I chose peace, even when I didn’t feel it.”
I stared at her, unable to comprehend the strength it must have taken to respond to betrayal with composure.
“But you were so kind,” I said. “You seemed… happy.”
Contnue READING…
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