My wife, Sarah, stood by the reception desk, clutching her belly. Her eyes weren’t filled with the tears of a heartbroken woman who had just caught her husband. They were cold. Calculating.
Behind me, my mistress, Elena, was sitting in a wheelchair, a nurse pushing her toward the delivery rooms. But Elena wasn’t looking at me with relief. She was looking at Sarah.
And then, Sarah did something that made my stomach drop. She didn’t scream. She didn’t cry. She just smiled—a slow, terrifying smirk—and walked straight toward Elena.
“You’re right on time,” Sarah said softly.
Elena gripped the armrests of her wheelchair, her knuckles turning white. “I told you I would be.”
My brain short-circuited. I looked between my wife of six years and the woman I had been seeing in secret for the last year. “Sarah? Elena? What… how do you know each other?”
Sarah finally turned her icy gaze to me. “Did you really think you were that clever, David? Did you really think a man who leaves his phone unlocked on the kitchen counter could pull off a double life for eight months?”
The nurse pushing Elena’s wheelchair stepped back, looking uncomfortable, but Sarah paid her no mind. She leaned down, getting right into Elena’s face, but her words were meant for me.
