I took her phone.
I figured out the unlock code.
And I opened her messages.
At first, everything seemed normal.
Family conversations.
Friends.
Nothing strange.
Then I saw a contact saved simply as:
**”M ❤️”**
My stomach sank.
I opened the conversation.
And I immediately wished I hadn’t.
**Stephanie:** He believed me. Men like him are easy when they’re afraid of losing you.
**Stephanie:** I don’t want him. I want what he has.
**Stephanie:** The house. The money. The ring. I want it ALL.
**Stephanie:** Just stay quiet until I’m sure of everything. Then I’ll take the money and leave while he cries.
I read the messages over and over, searching for another interpretation.
There wasn’t one.
The woman sleeping next to me wasn’t the woman I thought I knew.
And when the sun came up…
I had already decided exactly what I was going to do.
For the next two days, I made careful preparations.
I rented a venue and announced that we would have a gender reveal party.
Stephanie loved it without hesitation.
“A gender reveal? How adorable!”
That reaction was already a sign.
At ten weeks, accurately determining a baby’s sex is nearly impossible.
But she didn’t question it once.
On the contrary, she excitedly told me that her doctor would discreetly pass on the information so that I could order the [item/procedure/etc.].
