I Sold The House While You Cheated On Paternity Leave

It was three a.m. Id just managed to settle the baby, my entire body aching, when I picked up my phone and scrolled past a post on a daddy-forum:

[URGENT! Girlfriend is pushing hard. How to divorce my wife while she's still breastfeeding?]

A few jokers had commented below:

[Tough luck, buddy. The law protects the 'lactating liabilities' until the milk dries up. You'd need her to file first.]

The phrase lactating liabilities made my stomach clench with cold, physiological revulsion.

I was about to close the app when I saw an unusually detailed reply.

[Pro-tip: Take your paternity leave and go on a two-week trip with your parents. Wait for her to hit rock bottom from solo-parenting exhaustion. When you file, everyone will just assume shes suffering from postpartum psychosis.]

An ice-cold shiver crawled up my spine.

Just hours ago, my husband, Adam, had finalized the tickets for a trip next weeka "paternity leave" vacation to The Caribbean to attend his sisters 'graduation.'

I turned my head to look at Adam, who was deeply asleep next to me, and in that instant, I made a decision.

Later, I would recall this moment. Much later, when he was begging me on his knees.

Adam dropped the trip bombshell during dinner.

The incision from my C-section was throbbing, a dull ache beneath the mesh maternity underwear. Cant we wait until Ive finished the first six weeks? I asked quietly.

His face instantly clouded over.

Claire! How can you be so selfish! My parents have been looking forward to Madisons ceremony for years!

I wanted to laugh.

His sister, Madison, a twenty-something with no ambition, had used their parents retirement savings to get a vanity degree abroad. The one-year course had been creatively stretched into three.

I took a deep breath, trying to be reasonable. I just had major abdominal surgery. I was counting on you to take your paternity leave and help me.

Then have your mother come help, he waved a dismissive hand. Youre an only child; its the least she can do.

My heart sank.

My parents had bankrolled so much for our little family. Theyd even put down the deposit for a swanky postpartum retreat for me, which Adams mom, Sharon, had insisted we cancel. Shed promised she could "handle the baby care," and they took the cash instead.

Now, theyd banked the money and still expected my mother to step in.

The issue caused tension that night. When our daughter, Zoe, cried, Adam pretended to be asleep, pulling the covers over his head.

When Zoes wails continued, Sharon, sleeping in the guest room, didnt bother knocking before storming into our bedroom.

Claire! What are you doing?

I scrambled to pull the blanket higher over my chest. Mom, Im nursing Zoe. Could you knock next time, please?

Sharon glared at the baby in my arms and scoffed.

A girl, and you treat her like the Duchess of Cambridge! Just quiet her down, dont wake my son! This household relies on his income, you know!

I scoffed internally.

Adam made about eighty thousand a year, but half of it went straight to his sister's upkeep. The rest was sunk into his car payment and eating out. I hadn't seen a single cent go into the joint account. Whenever I dared ask him to buy diapers or formula, hed lecture me about being financially irresponsible and frivolous.

The sad irony? My own seventy-thousand salary covered the mortgage (which my parents gifted us the downpayment for), the utilities, and the $300 monthly allowance for his mom.

Suppressing a surge of anger, I forced a question: Mom, could you maybe pitch in and mix a bottle of formula for me?

Sharon instantly exploded.

Formula? What are you, made of money? Why arent you just breastfeeding? Its free!

I inhaled slowly. Im not producing enough. Zoe is still hungry.

Sharon wrinkled her nose in distaste. Fine. But I have to go pack for the trip.

As soon as she left, I reached for Adams phone on the nightstand. The passcode was still our wedding anniversary.

I checked his main social media and messaging apps, finding nothing immediately incriminating. But the original poster mentioned his girlfriend was "pushing hard."

Maybe it wasn't Adam?

I changed tactics and searched for anything related to Madison.

Madisons Instagram was wide open: endless photos of parties, shopping sprees, and exotic trips. I scrolled through them one by one.

Finally, three months back, in a set of photos from a beach vacation, I saw the flicker of something wrong.

It was a casual shot of Madison and another girl, arms around each other, laughing at the camera.

My eyes snagged on the other girls wrist. She was wearing a watchthe limited-edition automatic Id saved up for a year to buy Adam for his birthday.

Hed practically cried when I gave it to him. Honey! Im the luckiest man in the world!

Now, that watch was on a stranger's arm.

I zoomed in, carefully studying the girls face. She was beautiful, with the bright, carefree radiance of someone who had never had to worry about a thing.

I saved the photo.

The next morning, Adam grimaced and rolled over at the sound of Zoes cries.

Claire, feed her.

In the past, I would have instantly pushed through the pain of my episiotomy stitches and felt a wave of guilt for disturbing his rest.

But today, I just lay there, my expression calm.

My stitches are too sore, I cant move. Go warm up the pumped milk in the fridge. The bottle sterilizer has a clean one.

Adam froze. He hadnt expected me to delegate a task so directly.

He paused for a few seconds before reluctantly dragging himself out of bed. Why are your stitches suddenly bothering you? You were fine yesterday.

Postpartum recovery is a roller coaster, darling, I lowered my eyes, masking the cold steel in my gaze. Thank you for helping, honey.

That last sentence seemed to appease him, easing the resentment in his movements.

He fumbled clumsily through warming and feeding the milk. I watched him from the bed. Sunlight streamed through a gap in the blackout curtains, illuminating the dust motes in the air. Everything looked normal.

But I knew: something had irrevocably shattered.

After the feeding, Adam went back to scrolling on his phone.

Holding a now quiet Zoe, I began my careful probing.

Is the Caribbean trip all sorted? Have Mom and Dad finished packing? Do you want me to look over their lists?

Adam didnt look up, his thumb flying across the screen.

Its all handled. Dont worry about it, just focus on your recovery.

A faint smile played on his lips, and it was excruciatingly irritating.

Whats the exact address for Maddies ceremony? Ill send her a care packagesome nice treats from home. I bet shes homesick, I continued, my voice gentle.

Adams scrolling finger paused for a fraction of a second. His tone, however, remained casual.

Dont bother. She can buy anything she needs there. Besides, were taking her tons of stuff.

Oh, really? Like what? Im looking for ideas for later.

He sounded impatient now, finally looking up at me, a slight furrow in his brow. Just some clothes, snacks, toiletries. Why the sudden interest in Maddie today?

I laughed inwardly.

I used to genuinely treat his sister like my own. I never questioned the money transfers or the extravagant gifts.

Now, I realized my foolishness. That money hadn't been just for her.

No reason. Were family. A little concern is appropriate. I smiled, dropping the subject.

Over the next few days, I became abnormally compliant and considerate, offering no further objections to the trip.

The night before they left, Adam spent a very long time in the bathroom. The water rushed, drowning out any other sound.

I stood outside the door with Zoe, seeing only his vague, shifting shape through the frosted glass.

Hah.

He was probably reporting the itinerary to the "girlfriend whos pushing hard."

A dull ache settled in my chest, but mostly, I felt numb.

I silently walked away and pulled the property deed and the pre-nuptial agreement from the back of the bedroom dresser.

This apartment was bought outright by my parents with their life savings; it was my separate pre-marital property. Adams family had symbolically contributed some money toward renovation costs, but my name was the only one on the title.

I traced the raised lettering on the cover. A plan, clean and sharp, crystallized in my mind.

The day they left, Adam dragged two enormous suitcases. His parents were dressed to the nines, their faces beaming with the undisguised euphoria of escaping childcare.

Okay, honey, were off. Take good care of yourself and the baby.

Adam gave me a perfunctory hug at the door. I resisted the urge to push him away instantly.

Sharon also offered a hand-squeeze, an act of false comfort. Claire, youve been a star. Well be back as soon as Madisons ceremony is over.

I smiled and nodded. Maddies graduation is a huge deal. I can handle things here. You all deserve a good vacation.

Adam looked at me, a flicker of something complicated in his eyes, quickly replaced by the relief of his impending freedom.

He practically bolted out the door, not even bothering to glance back at the stroller where Zoe lay.

You wont blame me, Adam. I thought. I gave you one last chance to say goodbye to your daughter.

As soon as the door clicked shut, I called the real estate agent downstairs.

Whoa, Claire, the agent, Mike, sounded surprised. Didnt your husband already have my contact info? Why are you calling me?

I froze. My eyes narrowed instantly. What do you mean? What did my husband contact you about?

Adam called a few days ago to ask for a rush-sale quote on the condo. I told him to hold off, the markets flat right now.

My heart turned to ice. Adam wasnt just planning to leave me; he was already trying to liquidate my assets.

Yes, it is a rush sale, I said, my voice steady. Arrange a viewing as soon as possible.

Mike glanced at the baby in my arms. Got it. Ill send the paperwork to Adams WhatsApp later.

I cut him off. No. Text it to me. Hes traveling internationally with his parents right now, so he wont be checking his phone.

Mike raised an eyebrow in shock. Hes traveling internationally? He left you alone right after giving birth?

I gave a dry, self-mocking smile. The thing that shocked an outsider was utterly normal to his family.

After Mike left, I called my best friend, Jenna, who was a sharp family lawyer.

I have a case for you. A slam dunk: A divorce during the post-recovery period.

Jenna was immediately confident. Absolutely. Who in their right mind picks a fight with a woman whos just had a baby?

Seeing my silence, she sensed the gravity of the situation.

Waitis it you?

I gave a wry chuckle. Yep. Adam cheated. And planned my isolation.

Jenna gasped and immediately ordered me to stay put while she raced over.

I was exhausted from solo-parenting when she arrived. Seeing her familiar, trustworthy face, I finally broke down, sobbing uncontrollably.

Jenna simultaneously consoled me and cursed Adams entire lineage.

That pathetic loser! How dare he betray you! Did he forget the lengths he went to convince you to marry him?

Adam and I had been college sweethearts. I was the good student, from the affluent family, with a string of admirers. Adam was the most unremarkable of them all.

But he was persistent and seemed so devoted.

When I had the flu, he ran to a dozen pharmacies to find my specific medication. When I had appendicitis, he carried me to the hospital, running for over an hour.

It was these small acts of devotion that ultimately won me over.

Now, at my most vulnerable, he was plotting to discard me.

I took a deep breath, pulling myself out of the crushing emotional tide.

Jenna, I need you to do two things for me.

While I waited for Jenna's investigation results, I was impossibly busy.

On one hand, I was a single parent to a newborndealing with the agonizing pain of engorgement and fragmented sleep.

On the other, I was a real estate sharkworking closely with the agent, coordinating viewings, and negotiating with buyers.

My price was significantly below market value, and the title was clean. I quickly secured multiple cash offers.

Meanwhile, I began swiftly packing up Zoes things and mine. Laughably, everything Zoe and I owned fit into a single suitcase.

When Zoe was born, Id wanted to buy a simple changing table. Adam had called me high-maintenance. Sharon had chimed in, saying I had "princess airs but not the princess budget."

I was dumbfounded. I was an only child from an affluent family whose parents had bought us a million-dollar condo. How was that not a princess budget?

As for Adams and his parents belongings, I called a professional moving company and had everything boxed, cataloged, and donated to Goodwill or hauled away as trash.

Three days later, Jenna sent me an encrypted file.

I opened it: clear flight manifests, hotel reservation records, credit card statements, and a series of photos.

The flight destination was Bangkok, Thailand, with a connecting flight to Phuket. They had never set foot in the States.

The hotel was a high-end resort in Phuketa sea-view villa. The reservation was under Adam Adams and his parents and Madison.

But on the check-in day, a fourth guest was added, with an extra charge.

The consumption receipts showed couples spa treatments, romantic dinners, and even a chartered private snorkeling trip for two.

The photos were slightly grainy but unmistakable. Adam, in a floral shirt, his arm around a girl's waist, laughing as they shared a coconut.

Another photo showed Sharon and Gary, Adams parents, sitting on beach chairs, smiling warmly at their son and the girl, who were playing on a jet ski nearby. They looked as close as a prospective daughter-in-law.

Jennas summary: Brooke Linton, 25, unemployed, friend of Madisons from her overseas stint. Frequent contact with Adam for the past six months. Madison was the facilitator.

A violent wave of nausea hit me. I ran to the bathroom and retched until I was dizzy.

It wasn't morning sickness; it was pure, physiological disgust.

Afterward, I splashed cold water on my face and looked at the woman in the mirror: pale, slightly swollen, dark circles under my eyes, clothing stained with breast milk.

I wiped my face and went back to the living room.

The best cash offer was accepted. The deed transfer was expedited.

I signed all the paperwork.

A week later, Adam and his parents returned, lugging huge shopping bags, their faces glowing from the vacation.

They pushed open the door and found a strange couple standing in their living room.

Adam was stunned. Who are you? Why are you in my apartment?

The new owner held up the deed. The previous owner sold the place to us.

Adam snatched the paper, saw the new name on the title, and his face instantly went white.

Sharon shrieked. This is impossible! This is our home!

Just then, the doorbell rang.

Delivery for Adam Adams.

Adam ripped open the envelope, pulling out a Divorce Petition.

My phone instantly exploded with calls and messages from him:

Claire, where are you?

What did you do with the apartment?

Im sorry, let me explain

Please, just give me one more chance