It started with something small. He’d been distant for a while, brushing off conversations, working late more often than usual, guarding his phone like it contained state secrets. I told myself it was just stress from his job at the real estate office. He’d always been ambitious, always reaching for more. I wanted to be supportive, so I ignored the nagging suspicion gnawing at me. I told myself I was paranoid, that pregnancy hormones were making me overly sensitive.
But then, one night, while he was in the shower, his phone buzzed on the nightstand. Normally I never went near it—I wasn’t the kind of wife who snooped. But that night, something inside me shifted. The preview of the message was there, glowing on the screen: “Can’t wait to see you again, love.”
