The hands that once poured my water were now using our family’s money to support another woman. And the eyes that once looked at me with love were now filled with cold calculation.
A sharp kick in my side brought me back to the present. My daughter was reacting to the outside world.
I placed a hand on my belly, gently stroking it to soothe her. As the momentary pain passed, a steely resolve settled in my heart.
Marrying him was a mistake, but this child was a precious gift that I wouldn’t trade for anything. I made a promise to myself.
No matter what difficulties lay ahead, even if I lost money, I would protect this child to the very end. From this moment on, I was no longer Daniel’s submissive wife.
I was a strong mother, ready to reclaim a peaceful life for my child.
The contraction started early on a Wednesday morning during my 39th week of pregnancy. My abdomen tightened like a rock, and waves of pain radiated from my back to my lower belly.
I gritted my teeth, reached out to turn on the bedside lamp, and woke Daniel. He stumbled out of bed, half asleep, grabbed the pink hospital bag I had prepared, and clumsily helped me into a taxi to the hospital.
The labor and delivery waiting area was filled with the groans of other expectant mothers. I gripped the cold metal railing of the hospital bed, my clothes soaked with sweat.
Daniel stood by my side, holding my hand and whispering, “You can do this, honey. I’m right here with you.”
Looking at his worried face, I thought that the me of three months ago might have shed tears of gratitude, but the me of today could only manage a bitter scoff.
He was such a good actor. It was no wonder both Chloe and I had fallen for him so easily.
At 7:00 a.m., our daughter’s first cry echoed through the delivery room. The doctor wrapped the tiny red baby in a white swaddle and placed her on my chest.
Feeling the warmth of that small life, my heart felt like it was melting, and all my exhaustion seemed to vanish. I named her Lily.
It was a simple name, but it held my hope for her life to be peaceful. It was also a vow: no matter what storms came our way, this mother would bear it all to give her child a tranquil life.
A nurse pushed a wheelchair to take me and the baby out, and Daniel rushed over. His eyes welled with tears as he took my hand, kissed my forehead, and repeatedly thanked me.
A few families in the neighboring rooms whispered with envy. They praised me for being blessed with a husband who doted on his wife and child.
I simply responded with a smile. Lying in the wheelchair, I watched him perform the final scene of the exemplary father.
He played his part brilliantly, but I, his sole audience member, already knew the ending to the next act.
Two days later, I was discharged. My mother, who lived in a small town upstate, took a bus down to help me with my postpartum recovery.
Seeing her arrive with bags full of homemade chicken pot roast and vegetables from her own garden brought tears to my eyes.
My mother bustled around, cleaning the room, cooking, and washing her granddaughter’s diapers. Holding Lily, she told me, “A new mother’s body is weak, so you need to take good care of yourself. Seeing how Daniel looks after you and the baby puts my mind at ease. Your dad can manage the house, so I can stay here for a few months. Don’t worry about anything. Just focus on recovering.”
At night, my mother took care of Lily, allowing me to get some much-needed sleep. Daniel was on his best behavior, too.
He would come home from work, roll up his sleeves, and help my mother in the kitchen. Many times, watching my elderly mother work so hard for me late into the night, I wanted to lean on his shoulder and sob.
I wanted to tell her the ugly truth about the son-in-law she praised so highly, but I gritted my teeth and held back.
My mother had high blood pressure and had spent her life wishing for her daughter to have a peaceful family. If she learned the truth now during my recovery, she would surely collapse.
I couldn’t burden her with this. The plan for divorce remained my secret alone.
I quietly waited for the right moment.
Time flew by, and with Lily now three months old, it was time to plan her baptism.
One Saturday evening after dinner, Daniel, who was watching TV in the living room, suddenly suggested we throw a party. He grabbed a piece of paper and excitedly started planning.
He insisted it had to be a grand affair, saying he would reserve three large tables at the most upscale hotel banquet hall in town. The guest list would include both our parents, relatives, his work colleagues, and even some important clients.
Hearing this, I frowned and objected. I said the baby was only three months old and could easily get sick in a noisy, crowded place.
Besides, a party at a big hotel would cost a fortune, and with diapers and formula to buy, we couldn’t afford to be wasteful. Hearing my words, Daniel immediately waved his hand, dismissing my opinion.
“This is our daughter’s baptism, a once-in-a-lifetime event. We can’t just do something small. All my colleagues throw big parties. If we do something shabby, people will look down on us. Plus, this is a chance to invite clients and strengthen relationships. This isn’t just a party for our daughter. It’s about my reputation. You just stay home and take care of Lily. I’ll handle all the reservations. Don’t worry about the money.”
His excessive enthusiasm gave me a bad feeling. Why would a man who used to count every penny when we went grocery shopping suddenly want to throw a party at a luxury hotel?
That night, when Daniel was snoring beside me, I quietly took his phone, unlocked it with his password, and checked his banking app.
What I saw ignited a furious rage within me. Our joint savings account, the $12,000 we had saved for the baby’s delivery costs and emergencies, had been completely withdrawn three days prior.
I quickly checked the transaction history. $5,000 had been directly transferred to Chloe’s account with a clear message: “First payment for delivery costs. Use this for the hospital bill for now.”
A significant portion of the remaining money was used as a deposit for the hotel ballroom. The rest he had likely spent as pocket money.
I clenched my jaw, my nails digging into my palms. He truly was the worst kind of man.
He had used the money his wife had painstakingly saved to pay for his mistress’s delivery costs and then used the rest to plan a lavish party to show off his own hollow image.
I quietly took screenshots of all the transactions and sent them to my secret email. Everything was clear now.
The upcoming party wasn’t for Lily. It was the perfect pretext for Daniel to pre-celebrate the birth of the child he was having with his mistress.
It was a blatant insult to me and my daughter. But Daniel had misjudged me.
He thought I was a docile wife who would just stay quiet and care for the baby. He had no idea that this ostentatious party he was so carefully preparing would become the perfect stage for me to expose everything about his disgusting charade.
I placed his phone back where it was and gently tucked Lily in. I decided to give him a party he would never forget.
The day of the party finally arrived. Early in the morning, my mother was busy getting her granddaughter ready.
She dressed Lily in a beautiful pink dress. I didn’t want to show up looking haggard after childbirth either.
I opened my closet and pulled out the most striking red dress I owned, one I had bought before my pregnancy. The form-fitting dress accentuated my fair skin and cleverly concealed my still-recovering figure.
I sat at my vanity, applied a light layer of foundation, and painted my lips with a vivid red lipstick. I swept my hair up into a neat bun, revealing a bright, determined face.
When I came out of the room, my mother looked at me with a mixture of surprise and pride, complimenting me on how I looked even more beautiful after having a baby.
Daniel, who was busy in the living room checking the guest list, was speechless for a few seconds when he saw me. He came over, wrapped an arm around my waist, and showered me with compliments.
I accepted his false flattery with the calmest demeanor.
At exactly 11:00 a.m., our family arrived at the hotel. The ballroom was spectacularly decorated with balloons, fresh flowers, and a large banner that read, “God bless Lily on her baptism day.”
Guests began to arrive, and soon the three large tables were filled with relatives from both sides. Laughter and the clinking of glasses created a lively atmosphere.
My in-laws greeted guests with beaming faces. My mother-in-law held Lily in her arms, proudly showing her off as she moved from table to table.
Daniel’s aunt came over, stroking Lily’s head and laughing heartily.
“Oh, look at that nose and mouth. She looks just like Daniel, and she’s so plump. Jennifer has done a wonderful job. You grandparents must be so happy to have such a beautiful granddaughter.”
The congratulations were endless. Everyone praised Daniel for being a capable man who had prepared such a wonderful party for his wife and child.
