It’s only temporary,” my husband said about the crib in the guest room — but then I discovered a positive pregnancy test that couldn’t possibly be mine.
When I first saw my husband, Dan, assembling a crib in the guest room, he claimed it was “just to keep hope alive.” But that hope had been wearing thin—years of failed treatments, negative tests, and heartbreak had left me raw.
After a weekend at my mom’s to escape the constant reminder, I returned to find the crib gone—but a positive pregnancy test in the bathroom trash. It wasn’t mine. Dan denied everything, but suspicion grew.
One night, I followed him into the city. He met a blonde woman, shopped for baby supplies, and carried them into a house. When I confronted her, she slammed the door. The next day, the house was empty, but a scribbled address led me to another home—where I found Dan with her.
Her name was Lila, and according to Dan, she was an old friend hiding from an abusive husband. He hadn’t told me because he feared seeing him with a pregnant woman would crush me. I could have helped—if he’d only been honest.
Then, in the bathroom, Lila handed me a pregnancy test, urging me to try again. Moments later, two bright lines appeared. I handed it to Dan, and his face lit up with stunned joy.
“We’re going to be parents,” he whispered.
“No more lies,” I said.
“Ever,” he promised.
