Motherhood left me drained, but my husband Nate seemed to understand. Every evening, he offered to take our baby, Caleb, for a walk so I could rest. It felt like a sweet gesture—until the night he forgot his phone. I went to return it and discovered he wasn’t walking to the park, but to a downtown café where he met a woman—tall, stunning, and far too familiar with my baby.
I didn’t confront him right away. Instead, I watched and waited. The next evening, I swapped Caleb for a lifelike doll, planted a baby monitor in the stroller, and followed them. What I heard shattered me: he told her I didn’t suspect a thing, that I was just his wife “because of the baby,” and that he was waiting for my inheritance.
Furious, I confronted them right there. Nate was speechless when he saw the doll. I exposed him, tore off my ring, and walked away for good.
The divorce was swift—he didn’t fight for anything. A few months later, I learned his “girlfriend” was engaged to someone else; he was the side piece all along.
Years passed. I rebuilt my life with Caleb, stronger than ever. I ran into Nate once—aged, regretful—but I shut him down. My inheritance? It’s in a trust for Caleb. Because love isn’t a transaction—and I’m done being anyone’s collateral.