The crowd cheered as Vincent Ferry and his assistant made out during the kiss-cam of a concert.

Handsome man, beautiful woman—it was a match made for social media. The video spread like wildfire, racking up millions of likes.

And right in the middle of it all, my five-year-old son, Hector, clapped his hands, grinning from ear to ear.

I turned away from the video, posted it to my feed, and added the caption: "So sweet."

It didn't take long for Vincent to call, his voice ringing out for everyone to hear, scolding me for being jealous and narrow-minded.

"Andrea, stop being so petty and jealous! It was for show, to get her ex's attention. Do you really have to make a scene about this?"

My friends, the ones who knew the truth, were already laughing at me.

They were betting on how long it would take for me to come crawling back.

But this time, I wasn't going to give them the satisfaction.

*****

Later, a friend texted me, asking why I hadn't been at Hector's birthday party.

I opened the picture she sent. There he was, sitting on Vincent's assistant's lap, cutting the cake as if they were a real family.

Today was my son's sixth birthday.

I had spent the entire day at home, preparing a feast from nine in the morning until eight at night.

I had called and texted, but there was no response.

Turns out, they had already celebrated without me.

Staring at the untouched dishes and the custom cake I had ordered, I sliced off a piece and forced it into my mouth, the sweetness a bitter contrast to the sourness in my chest.

At ten, Vincent and Hector finally returned, their loud voices waking me.

They burst in, arms full of gifts, but the smiles they wore quickly vanished when they saw me.

Hector huffed, pointing at the cake I had made. "This is so lame. I like the one Ms. Jensen bought me better. It had an Ultraman on it."

Vincent stepped in front of him, blocking his view of me. "Hector didn't want you at the party. You went too far the other day."

I narrowed my eyes, the pieces falling into place.

He was talking about when Hector had pushed a little girl for refusing to give him her toy, and I'd made him apologize.

That was apparently what "going too far" meant.

I nodded, too tired to argue. Then, I stood up and began clearing the table.

Vincent led Hector to wash up, but then came back, his hands still wet, and wrapped his arms around me from behind. In his hand was a small bag.

"Layla wanted me to give this to you," he said, his tone matter-of-fact. "She said it's only right to send gifts to the mother on her child's birthday for her sacrifice. Isn't that thoughtful of her?"

I glanced at the logo on the bag and instantly recognized that it was a freebie.

He didn't know that I had already seen a carefully packed present of this brand weeks ago, tucked away in his closet. I had waited—through our anniversary, through his silence—and only now did I understand.

The gift had never been meant for me.

Vincent's voice was colder now.

"Don't hold it against her. She didn't mean to mess up the sofa. She's just a young girl, still in school. She doesn't know any better, but at least she had the decency to tell me to apologize on her behalf."

Instantly, memories flooded back to me.

That was when I had first noticed something was wrong.

It was when Vincent had brought Layla home, pale and in pain from her period. He'd fussed over her, making her coffee, buying her sanitary pads, letting her stain the couch.

The man who had always been obsessed with cleanliness didn't bat an eye.

It was a level of care I had never received.

In that moment, I knew. Vincent wasn't the same man with her.

As I pulled myself out of the memory, I realized I couldn't even summon the energy to feel angry anymore.

"Just leave it there," I said flatly. "I'll clean up. Be careful not to make a mess."

Suddenly, a loud crash came from the other room.

Vincent immediately let go of me and rushed out.

I followed him to find Hector standing over the remnants of the cake. It had been smashed on the floor. Silently, I picked it up and tossed it into the trash.

And then, Hector's shriek filled the room.

"You horrible woman! Don't touch my cake!"

A glass flew through the air and hit me in the head. Pain exploded across my forehead, and I smelled blood.

Vincent rushed over, grabbing me by the shoulders. "That cake was from Layla. It had Godzilla on it. You shouldn't have thrown it away."

I couldn't help but laugh bitterly, wiping the blood from my forehead.

Vincent pulled me toward the door and insisted on taking me to the hospital. I didn't argue. My head throbbed, and the wound likely needed stitching.

As we stepped outside, Vincent's phone rang. He answered, his voice soft, filled with worry.

I didn't need to guess who it was.

"Andrea, Layla said there's someone lurking outside her apartment. I'm going to check on her. I'll be back soon..."

Before he could finish, I cut him off. "The hospital isn't far. I'll go by myself. Take Hector with you."

Wrapping my coat around me, I turned and walked away.

By the time I reached the hospital, my vision blurred.

Darkness crept in at the edges until everything went black.

The last thing I felt was the cold tile beneath my knees as I collapsed at the front desk.

When I woke up, the doctor was there, and she said I was pregnant.