I decided to visit my pregnant daughter, Sophie, unannounced but when I arrived, I found her collapsed on the living room floor.
At that very moment, her husband was on a yacht with another woman. I sent him a short, eight-word text and he turned pale immediately.
It was a quiet Sunday afternoon when Elena felt the need to check on her daughter, seven months pregnant and looking frail. The door to Sophie’s house was slightly open, silent except for the creak of the hinges.
Calling her name yielded no answer. Walking down the hallway, Elena found Sophie lying unconscious on the wooden floor, her phone glowing nearby. Sophie’s face was pale, her breathing shallow.
Panicked, Elena called emergency services, her hands trembling violently.
As she waited, she glanced at Sophie’s phone and froze. An Instagram notification showed her husband, Michael, aboard a yacht with a glamorous woman, laughing under the sun. The caption read: “Sometimes, happiness comes when you least expect it.”
A lump formed in Elena’s throat.
Sophie had trusted Michael completely, defended their marriage through every doubt and now, while her daughter lay on the floor, he was celebrating with someone else. When the paramedics arrived, they confirmed Sophie had fainted from stress and low bl00d pressure; the baby was stable.
Before following them to the hospital, Elena took her daughter’s phone and sent Michael a single, devastating message:
“Your wife is in the hospital. She’s not breathing well.”
On the yacht, Michael read it and went pale.
His glass slipped from his hand. The woman beside him asked what was wrong, but he said only, “I have to go. Now.”
Hours later, Michael arrived at the hospital, guilt crushing him.
Elena met him at the entrance, arms crossed, eyes cold.
“Where were you?” she asked, calm but sharp.
He tried to speak, but Elena cut him off.
“I don’t care. Sophie is stable, but the doctor says stress is harming her. And you are part of it.”
He lowered his head, realizing no excuse could save him.
The weeks of escapism, the arguments, his desire for freedom—all of it collapsed in the face of reality: his wife, his unborn child, and the life he risked destroying.
That night, he entered Sophie’s hospital room. She was hooked to an IV, her heart monitored, fragile in every sense. He took her hand and whispered, “I’m sorry.”
The story doesn’t end here –
it continues on the next page.
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