Not My Baby

There was a moment at a friend's party the other day that I can't get out of my head.

Our friends' one-year-old suddenly burst into tears, a loud, heartbroken wail that sent all of us into a mild panic.

While the rest of us fumbled around, my husband, Vincent, was an island of calm. He took the baby from his friend, his movements practiced and sure. He held the child close, patting his back gently while humming a lullaby Id never heard before.

To everyones astonishment, the crying subsided, and the baby quieted down. Our friends were floored, praising him for being a natural with kids.

Vincent just smiled and waved it off. He even gently corrected our friend's posture for holding the baby, adding a casual tip that infants this age are prone to gas and need to be burped thoroughly after feeding.

On the drive home, I sat in the passenger seat, watching the city lights blur past. When did you become a baby expert? I finally asked, a teasing note in my voice. Im the one whos supposed to be the die-hard child-free advocate, and even I dont know all that.

His eyes stayed on the road, but his fingers flexed on the steering wheel. You hear things, he said lightly. All the new dads at the office talk about this stuff nonstop. Its hard not to pick it up.

He reached over and squeezed my cheek, a warm smile playing on his lips. What, are you afraid theyre going to brainwash me? Make me go back on our DINK pact?

Then his expression turned serious, his eyes meeting mine for a brief, intense moment. Dont worry. We promised each other it would be just us, a world for two. And thats all it will ever be.

The day after the party, I was gathering Vincents suit jacket to send to the dry cleaners when something hard and small tumbled out of the pocket, clattering against the hardwood floor.

It was a baby rattle. A bright red drum with a smiling doll painted on its face.

It was brand new, the edges still sharp and un-scuffed.

I picked it up, the smooth plastic cool against my palm.

Vincent walked out of the bathroom, his hair still dripping. His eyes landed on the rattle in my hand, and for a split second, he froze.

Oh, that, he said, his voice casual as he walked over and plucked it from my fingers. Its Marks kids. The little guy must have shoved it in my pocket when I was holding him yesterday. Guess Ill have to get it back to him. What a pain.

His explanation was flawless.

I just nodded. Well, dont forget to return it.

I wont.

He tossed the rattle onto the console table by the door, the one where we keep our keys and loose change. It was a spot you couldnt miss on your way out.

Hed thought of everything.

But a strange, prickling discomfort settled in my chest, like the sting of a tiny, unseen needle.

A few days later, I was reviewing our monthly credit card statement when a single charge jumped out at me.

The Baby Chateau Boutique. Total: 0-0,250.

The date was from last Wednesday. I remembered that day clearly. Vincent had told me he was visiting an important client.

I brought it up that night. He was on the couch, watching the financial news, and didnt even look up.

Oh, that was a massage chair for my mom. Shes been complaining about her back lately.

You bought a massage chair at a baby store? I asked.

His eyes finally left the screen. He turned to me and smiled. Dont be silly. Those kinds of high-end places sell all sorts of things, wellness gadgets, stuff for seniors. It was just close to the clients office, so I popped in.

He stood up and came around the couch, wrapping his arms around me from behind. If you dont believe me, we can ask Mom how she likes it when we see her tomorrow.

His warm breath tickled my ear.

My entire body went rigid.

In three years of marriage, he had never once used that placating, almost condescending tone with me.

That night, I lay in bed, wide awake. Vincent was sound asleep beside me, his breathing deep and even.

His phone, resting on the nightstand, suddenly lit up. It was on silent, the glow faint in the dark room.

A message preview materialized on the screen.

[Mrs. Gable (Building Super): The babys fever is back, 102. You need to come now.]

It was followed by a crying emoji.

My heart didnt just sink. It plummeted into an icy abyss.

The manager of our apartment building was a man in his fifties named Mr. Peterson. There was no Mrs. Gable.

My hand moved on its own. I took Vincents thumb and pressed it to the sensor. His skin was warm. Mine was as cold as iron. The phone unlocked.

I opened the chat with Mrs. Gable. There was no saved contact, only a profile picture: a selfie of a woman with long, dark hair and soft, gentle eyes.

He hadnt deleted the entire chat history. I scrolled up, and my world tilted. It was an endless stream of a baby.

A newborn. A one-month-old. A baby smiling. A baby crawling.

And under every single photo, a reply from Vincent.

Thank you for everything.

Was he a good boy today?

Ill be there tomorrow.

Further up, there was a video. A womans voice, soft and sweet, cooing as she held an infant. Come on, sweetie. Say dada. The baby just gurgled, blowing spit bubbles.

The background of the video was an unfamiliar apartment, but the floral pattern on the curtains I recognized it. It was from a swatch Vincent had sent me on a business trip last year, telling me he loved the design. Id laughed at him then, teasing him for having such frilly taste.

It wasnt for him.

It was for her.

I backed out of the chat and clicked on her profile.

Her name was Isabelle.

Her social media presence painted the picture of a strong, optimistic single mother.

[Its hard, but seeing your smile makes it all worth it.] The caption was next to a photo of a sleeping infant.

[Dont you worry, baby. Mama will give you double the love.] That one was a picture of her holding the child at an indoor playground.

But beneath the declarations of independence were a thousand tiny betrayals.

A photo of her eating a meal at home, and next to her plate sat a coffee muga custom one I had given Vincent, engraved with his initials.

A selfie of her holding the baby, and in the background, a mans dress shirt was slung casually over the arm of the sofa. The cufflinks at the wrist were a mother-of-pearl set I knew he adored.

Her latest post was from just three hours ago.

[In the next life, Ill choose you.]

And right below it, a single comment. A like from Vincent.

In that moment, I felt nothing. Not rage, not heartbreak.

Just a vast, echoing void.

Every beautiful dream I had for our future, every promise wed made about our world for two, shattered into dust.

I turned off the phone and placed it exactly where it had been. My hands were perfectly steady.

I didnt cry. I didnt scream. I opened my laptop.

I searched for the best divorce attorney in the city and sent an inquiry email.

Then, I started to compile a list of my personal assets. Savings, investments, property.

My phone screen lit up with a text from an old college friend, Alex. [Hey, how have you been?]

My mind was a chaotic storm. I didn't reply.

I am child-free by choice. My life plan has never, ever included children.

When Vincent proposed, I made that crystal clear.

He had taken my hands, his gaze unwavering and sincere. He told me he loved me, not my potential to be an incubator. He said it didnt matter if we had kids or not. Having me was enough.

I believed him.

What an absolute joke.

The next morning, the sun streamed into our bedroom.

Vincent was already in the kitchen, just like any other day. The smell of toast and fried eggs drifted under the door. He came in carrying a breakfast tray, a perfect, husbandly smile on his face.

Morning, beautiful. I made you your favorite.

He leaned down and kissed my forehead. I could smell his familiar cologne, but underneath it, faint and cloying, was the unmistakable scent of baby formula.

My stomach churned. I fought it down.

It smells amazing. I sat up and smiled back at him. My reflection in the vanity mirror looked pale, but my smile was sweet.

Hurry and eat. Dont you remember? We have a date to see that new movie today, he said, handing me the tray.

I know. Ive been looking forward to it all week.

I took a small bite of toast. It tasted like ash. He sat on the edge of the bed, watching me, his eyes overflowing with a tenderness that made me want to vomit.

Slow down, youll choke.

Just then, his phone rang.

He glanced at the caller ID, and the smile on his face tightened for a fraction of a second. He took the phone and walked out onto the balcony, lowering his voice.

Hello?

Didnt I tell you I had plans today?

Fine, fine, I get it. Stop crying. Im on my way.

He ended the call and walked back in, his face a mask of apology.

Aurora, Im so sorry. Something urgent just came up at the office. I have to go in.

The movie can we reschedule? Please?

I looked at him. The panic in his eyes was so real, so convincing.

Of course, I said, putting my fork down with a thoughtful smile. Work comes first.

Youre the best.

He leaned in and kissed my cheek one more time.

He changed his clothes in a hurry, grabbed his keys, and rushed out the door.

The moment it clicked shut, the smile vanished from my face.

I walked to the window and watched his car speed out of our complex.

I knew he wasnt going to the office.

He was going to his other home. The one with his child, and the other woman who needed his comfort.

A hot sting filled my eyes, but I forced the tears back.

He wasnt worth it.

From the second he chose to lie to me, this man was no longer worth a single one of my tears.

I didnt cancel the movie tickets.

I sat alone in the cavernous, empty theater and watched the romantic comedy we were supposed to see together. On screen, after a series of hilarious misunderstandings, the hero and heroine finally embraced in a perfect, happy ending. The theater was filled with the laughter and sniffles of other couples.

I just sat there, my face blank, sipping my soda until the ice numbed my teeth.

After the movie, I didn't go home.

I took a cab to the apartment complex Id seen tagged in Isabelles social media posts. It was a new, upscale building with tight security.

I couldn't get in.

As I hovered near the entrance, a familiar car pulled up to the gate.

Vincents car.

He parked and got out, pulling a mountain of things from the trunk. A stroller, cans of formula, and several expensive-looking gift bags.

He was so preoccupied he didnt even see me standing just a few yards away.

A moment later, a woman ran out from the building and linked her arm through his.

It was Isabelle. She looked exhausted, her eyes red and swollen as if shed been crying for hours. Vincent soothed her, handing her the bags before taking a swaddled bundle from her arms.

He looked down at the infant, and his face transformed with a look of such profound, genuine love and tendernessa look I had never, ever seen on him before.

He held the child, and together, he and Isabelle walked into the building I could never enter.

They looked like any other loving, ordinary couple.

I stood frozen, watching until their figures disappeared through the lobby doors.

So, it wasn't that he didn't want children.

He just didn't want my children.

Or maybe, he wanted it all: a docile woman to give him an heir, and a "perfect wife" to provide him with emotional support and a high-status lifestyle.

He wanted everything.

I took out my phone. I took a picture of his car. I took a picture of the building.

Then, I made a call.

It was to a senior I knew from college. He was now the editor-in-chief at a major media outlet.

Hey, Mark. I have a story for you. And I need a favor.

As I hung up, a car pulled up beside me. The window rolled down to reveal my mother-in-laws face.

Her expression was a mixture of shock and guilt. Aurora, what are you doing here?

I looked at her and a slow, cruel smile spread across my face.

Oh, hi, Mom. Im just here to see Vincent.

He told me his little brother lives here now, you know? I gestured towards the gleaming apartment tower, my smile widening.

I just wanted to come by and see what he looks like.

The color drained from her face.

She knew. She knew that I knew everything.

Her mouth opened and closed, but no words came out.

I didnt give her a second glance. I turned and walked away, the sharp click of my heels on the pavement echoing in the quiet street.

Every step felt like I was grinding my heel into the hollow, deceitful heart of their entire family.