The Baby Carriage Bill

The moment a shared account notification for a high-end baby stroller popped up on my phone, I quit my seven-figure job without a second thought.
I packed my bags, flew home from London, and prepared to start a family with the husband I hadn't lived with for ten years.
I knew this was another one of his hints.
For the past decade, I'd always used my demanding career as an excuse, telling him I wasn't ready for children. But deep down, the guilt was eating me alive. Guilt for leaving him alone in our New York brownstone while I chased a paycheck overseas. Guilt for prioritizing my ambition over the family we were supposed to build.
But when I stood at our front door, gifts in hand, ready to give him the surprise of his life, I wasn't met with the tearful, joyful embrace I’d imagined.
Instead, I was greeted by a young boy and a woman with a swollen, pregnant belly.

1
The boy was laughing, running full tilt toward the woman, and was about to collide with her when my husband, George, rushed out from inside. He threw his arms out, stopping the reckless child just in time.
“Leo, you’re about to be a big brother! You can’t be so careless. What if you’d hurt your mommy and the baby?”
The boy made a funny face, grinning. “But I want a little sister.”
George ruffled the boy’s hair, the adoration in his eyes practically overflowing. His parents followed him out, pulling the boy aside to scold him gently. “You can’t do that anymore. You could have really hurt her.”
I watched this happy, harmonious family scene, and the cold, hard truth finally dawned on me.
They all knew. They were all in on this perfect little life, and I was the only one who had been left in the dark.
But… every time I came home, he was as passionate as a newlywed. He would hold me until dawn, his touch desperate and loving. Because of that, even after eight years without a child, I never doubted him. I never once questioned his love for me.
Before I boarded the plane, I’d texted him that I had a surprise, and he’d replied, “Can’t wait.”
It had only been a few hours. How had everything changed so completely?
I looked at George.
His eyes scanned my face, a flicker of panic in their depths, before finally landing on the gift box I was still clutching. His voice was raspy, a barely audible whisper. “What are you doing back?”
When he saw my gaze fixed on the pregnant woman beside him, he quickly dropped the hand that had been resting on her waist.
Suddenly, a thousand ignored details from the past eight years exploded in my mind. The way he’d always cut our video calls short, blaming a “bad signal.” The gifts I’d sent home, always returned with the excuse that the “storage is full.” The way he’d talked me out of taking a vacation to come home last month, claiming he was “too swamped at work.”
“A surprise,” I said, the words catching in my throat, dry and rough like sandpaper. I forced a smile. “Weren’t you excited?”
The woman beside him took half a step forward, subtly positioning herself in front of him, as if to protect him. “Excuse me, do we know you?”
I ignored her, my eyes still glued to George’s face. “Aren’t you going to introduce us?”
George snapped out of his trance, forcing a weak smile. “This is Amber. The children’s mother.”
Then he pointed at me, and his voice faltered.
I didn’t give him a chance to lie. I held out my hand. “I’m Chloe. George’s wife.”
Amber didn’t move. My outstretched hand hung awkwardly in the air.
The color drained from George’s face. He tugged on Amber’s sleeve. “Mom, Dad, why don’t you take Leo home for now?”
Amber gave me a look loaded with meaning as George’s parents quickly ushered the boy away, half-coaxing, half-dragging him out the door.
The moment they were gone, George’s expression transformed.
His eyes were red, his face a mask of wounded betrayal.
“Why did you come back like this? Are you checking up on me?”
I stood my ground, my voice steady despite the tremor in my soul. “I quit my job.”
George’s head shot up. “What?”
I knew what he was thinking. My salary in London was more than enough to support his entire family in lavish comfort. But I had walked away from it all. Years of building my career overseas, gone. I’d be starting from scratch back home. He had grown accustomed to the easy, luxurious life my money provided.
The thought of falling from that paradise must have been terrifying.
“You always said I didn’t spend enough time with you,” I said, my voice flat. “So I quit. I gave up everything in London so we could finally be together and build a real life.”
“I wanted to tell you in person, so I came straight from the airport with your gifts.”
George’s eyes finally seemed to register the pile of luggage and shopping bags at my feet. I had rushed here, not even stopping for a sip of water, my clothes damp with sweat from the journey.
He called for the housekeeper, a flicker of guilt crossing his face. “Please help take these bags inside and show… Miss Chloe to the guest room.”
Then he turned back to me. “I have to take Amber to her check-up. Just tell the housekeeper what you want for dinner.”
And with that, he led Amber away, as if this whole devastating scene had never happened. As if he owed me, his actual wife, no explanation at all.
I watched them go, a painful lump forming in my throat.
This was my brownstone. He was my husband. Those were my in-laws.
But now, in my own home, I was being shown to the guest room.
I was an intruder. A stranger who had forced her way into their perfect life.
I couldn’t help but wonder… if our child had survived all those years ago, would we have had a life this happy? Would the three of us have been a family, just like them?

2
Years ago, getting married to George had been a dream.
From meeting his parents to the engagement party, they had always looked at me with such approval, bragging to everyone about how smart and capable their son’s new wife was. I remember the first time I visited their home, George’s mother held my hands and gushed, “Chloe, you’re like the daughter we never had. We’ll treasure you.”
Back then, George was always by my side.
He said he loved peace and quiet, so I took all my savings and bought this brownstone, a multi-million-dollar property in the heart of the city. He was ecstatic, promising to decorate it exactly the way I wanted. I didn’t have strong opinions, so I let him take the lead. He threw himself into the project, choosing deep blue curtains because they were my favorite, insisting on a durable grey sofa, and even picking the wedding photo for the wall where he said I had the goofiest, happiest smile.

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