Motherhood had left me exhausted, and my husband seemed to understand. Every evening, he took our baby for a walk so I could relax, and it felt like such a sweet gesture. I trusted him completely. But one night, he forgot his phone, so I followed his usual route to return it—only to realize it wasn’t usual at all.
I gave birth to our baby boy, Caleb, six months ago. Motherhood was beautiful, but it also drained me. Sleepless nights, constant worry, and the never-ending responsibility made my body ache with exhaustion. Through it all, my husband, Nate, was my rock.
“You look exhausted,” he said one evening, stepping into the house from work. His tie was loosened, his sleeves rolled up. He kissed my forehead while I bounced a fussy Caleb on my hip.
“That obvious, huh?” I tried to laugh, but it came out more like a sigh.
“Here, let me take him.” Nate reached for Caleb, who instantly settled against his father’s chest. “Actually, I’ve been thinking… you never get a break, Monica. How about I take him for a walk every evening? That way, you get some time for yourself.”
I blinked in surprise. “You’d do that?”
“Of course.” He smiled warmly. “You deserve it. And I miss spending time with the little guy.”
That night, I soaked in a hot bath for the first time in months, listening to the quiet house, grateful for my thoughtful husband.
“How was your walk?” I asked when they returned, Caleb sleeping peacefully in the stroller.
Nate’s eyes lit up. “Great. Really great. We should make this our thing.”
“I’d like that,” I said, warmth spreading through my chest.
And so it began. Every evening at 6:30, Nate would take Caleb out in his stroller. It was a little father-son bonding time and a much-needed break for me.
For weeks, this routine continued. I watched from the window as they disappeared down the street, Nate pushing the stroller with one hand, phone in the other.
He always returned looking refreshed. Too refreshed.
“You really enjoy these walks, don’t you?” I asked one night as he placed a sleeping Caleb in his crib.
“Best part of my day,” he replied, not meeting my eyes.
Something in his voice made me pause, but I pushed the thought away. I wanted to believe in this version of my husband—the devoted father, the considerate partner.
Then came the night that changed everything.
Nate had just left with Caleb when his phone buzzed on the kitchen counter. I picked it up and saw his boss’s name on the screen.
“He forgot his phone,” I muttered, grabbing my coat. “I could catch up to them… they couldn’t have gone far.”
I slipped out the front door, spotting them halfway down the block. Something made me pause before calling out. A gut feeling. So, I followed at a distance.
Nate didn’t turn toward the park like I thought he always did. Instead, he headed downtown, pushing the stroller through the evening crowd.
Then he stopped outside a coffee shop. A woman appeared—tall, stunning, confident.
She bent down, cooed at my baby, then straightened up and kissed my husband on the cheek.
My body went cold. My vision blurred.
They walked inside together, her hand resting on the stroller handle alongside Nate’s, like they’d done this a hundred times before.
That night, I said nothing. I placed his phone where he left it and pretended to be napping when he returned. I needed to be sure.
The next night, I followed again. This time, I watched them sit outside, laughing, her fingers brushing Caleb’s tiny hand. Nate leaned in close, smiling wider than I’d seen in months.
Something hardened inside me.
I needed the truth.
The following morning, I bought a plastic baby doll, one that looked eerily like Caleb, and wrapped it in his blanket. I tucked a baby monitor inside the stroller.
When Nate came home and got ready for his ‘walk,’ he didn’t even glance in the stroller before leaving.
“Enjoy your walk,” I called, forcing a smile.
“We always do,” he replied casually.
Heart pounding, I followed with the monitor in hand.
There they were, seated at the same coffee shop. I turned up the volume.
“Are you sure this is okay?” the woman asked. “I feel guilty.”
“It’s fine,” Nate said. “She doesn’t suspect a thing. She’s too exhausted to notice.”
I clenched my fists.
“And how long are you going to pretend you love her? Until Caleb grows up?”
“No, babe. Until she gets her inheritance. Then she’ll give me some money for being such a WONDERFUL husband. See? I even walk a baby every evening. I’m practically a saint!”
My vision blurred with fury.
I stepped forward. “Oh, don’t stop on my account.”
Nate choked on his coffee. The woman’s eyes widened.
“Monica,” he stammered. “What are you—”
I yanked the blanket off the stroller. The plastic baby stared up at them.
“What the hell?” Nate gasped.
“That’s what I was going to ask YOU,” I shot back.
The woman turned to Nate, confused. “You said she knew—”
“Knew what?” I cut in. “That my husband uses our son as a prop to cheat on me? That he’s planning to milk me for my inheritance?”
“Monica, I can explain—”
“You had to marry me? Had to be a father?” My voice shook. “That’s what you told her?”
His face paled. The woman looked sick.
I pulled off my wedding ring and dropped it onto the table. “I hope you’re happy together. Because you just lost the best thing you had.”
Then I turned and walked away. And this time, I never looked back.
The divorce was swift. He didn’t fight for custody or the house. He signed the papers and disappeared.
Three months later, my friend Mia called, laughing. “You won’t believe what I just saw. That brunette? She’s engaged to someone else. Nate was just the side piece! He was yelling in public, and she just shrugged.”
I should have felt vindicated. Instead, I felt free.
A year later, I ran into Nate at the supermarket. He looked older, defeated.
“Monica,” he said, looking at Caleb. “He’s gotten so big.”
“Children do that,” I replied.
“I’ve been thinking—”
“Don’t.”
His face crumpled. “I messed up.”
“Yes, you did.” I lifted Caleb into the cart. “And the funny thing is, you didn’t just lose me. You lost yourself.”
Nate swallowed hard. “Can I at least—”
“Send child support. On time.”
As I walked away, Caleb waved. “Bye-bye.”
I never looked back.
Some chapters are better left closed. And some people? They write themselves out of your story.
