Keep the Child, Leave the Man

When I got pregnant, my incredibly devoted boyfriend quit his job to pamper me.

He managed everything I ate, wore, and used with strict precision.

My best friend secretly got a high-end, pregnancy-safe skincare set customized for me. When he found it, he blew his top.

These are all chemicals! They are going to hurt the baby!

I tried to explain that keeping my spirits up was just as important for our child.

The moment those words left my mouth, he dropped to his knees with a heavy thud.

"I am so sorry! I made you upset! But what if there is something toxic in there and we lose the baby? I would never forgive myself!"

His sheer panic threw me off guard. Feeling a bit guilty, I handed the expensive set over for him to "dispose of" properly.

That very night, I was scrolling through social media and saw a lifestyle influencer posting a teaser for her next unboxing video.

The luxury skincare box in her preview photo was the exact same custom set my best friend had just given me.

Curiosity piqued, I clicked into her profile. As I scrolled through her past videos, my blood ran cold. Every single designer item my boyfriend had "disposed of" for the sake of the baby magically appeared on her feed.

When a masked man walked into the frame of her latest video, I almost laughed out loud at the absurdity of it all.

I slowly turned my head to look at the skincare set sitting near the entryway, the one he had not yet taken out to "throw away."

Without missing a beat, I opened my phone and placed a rush order for five bottles of industrial-grade superglue, five bottles of heavy-duty purple skin dye, and a whole lot of pepper extract.

My friends always warned me that Oliver was only after my bank account.

I never cared. I had more than enough money to go around. Plus, Oliver always knew exactly what to say.

"I know I am not in your league," he used to whisper, holding my hands. "But I want to be the man supporting you behind the scenes. If you ever feel like you do not need me anymore, just say the word and I will walk away. But for now, please let me take care of you."

He quit his corporate job for me. He learned gourmet cooking, got certified as an infant care specialist, and even took doula classes. What reason did I have to reject a gorgeous, multi-talented guy who wanted nothing more than to wait on me hand and foot?

I tossed him a black card without a second thought. He never spent a dime recklessly. He would even text me a receipt when he filled up the gas tank. He was so incredibly well-behaved it almost made my heart ache.

But there was one specific habit of his that really got under my skin. Like right now.

"Oliver! Where did that skincare set Harper sent me go?"

Oliver poked his head out of the kitchen, wiping his hands on a linen apron. He pursed his lips into a worried pout.

"Sienna, honey, you are pregnant. Those commercial products are loaded with harsh chemicals. It is just not safe for the baby."

On the other end of the phone, my best friend Harper absolutely lost her mind.

"Sienna! I paid a private dermatological team thousands to formulate that! It is food-grade! Completely safe for expecting mothers! Tell your warden of a boyfriend to hand it back. Pregnant women deserve to feel beautiful too!"

I intentionally put her on speakerphone and raised my voice toward the kitchen.

"Did you hear her? Hand it over. Do not tell me you donated it behind my back again!"

Whenever Oliver "disposed" of my things, he claimed he was dropping them off at charity centers. We had a whole drawer full of donation receipts.

He called it "building good karma for the baby."

He ignored my demand. Instead, he walked out of the kitchen carrying a steaming bowl.

"You mentioned you were craving carbs yesterday but were worried about the baby weight. So, I minced fresh shrimp and made zero-carb noodles from scratch. I counted every calorie. It will not make you gain a pound, and it is packed with nutrients for you both."

Looking at the perfectly plated dish, all the fight drained right out of me.

Oliver sighed, his voice dripping with gentle concern. "I am not trying to stop you from doing your skincare routine. I just genuinely do not trust those lab-made chemicals. I have been taking online courses on making pure, organic cosmetics. Let me make some for you, okay?"

Handmade creams, soaps, daily essentials. All my top-tier luxury brands had slowly been replaced by his homemade concoctions. They were not exactly La Mer, but how could I fault a man pouring his entire heart into keeping me safe?

I let out a soft sigh.

"I am not trying to pick a fight. Just think about it. If I am happy and relaxed, that is good for the baby too, right?"

The moment the words left my mouth, his knees hit the hardwood floor.

"Did I do something wrong? Did I make you miserable?"

"I am so sorry, Sienna! The box is right by the door. I will go grab it for you right now. But... what if there is a hidden ingredient in there? What if we lose the baby? I would live in agony for the rest of my life!"

His dramatic reaction completely stunned me. Suddenly, I felt like the villain of the story for being too demanding.

"Alright, alright, get up. Just promise me you will ask before you donate anything from now on. And leave the skincare alone, it is a gift from Harper."

"I promise! I swear!" He bounced up instantly, a bright, sunny smile taking over his face. "Oh, by the way, honey. A lot of the clothes in your walk-in closet do not fit your bump anymore. They are just taking up space. How about I bag them up and drop them off at the shelter?"

I thought about it. I had not cleaned out my closet in ages. I nodded and gave him the green light.

I sat at the island counter, enjoying the shrimp noodles, watching him hustle in and out of the master bedroom.

One garbage bag. Two bags. Five massive black bags.

I stared in absolute shock. "Are you cleaning out a closet or robbing the place?"

I marched into the walk-in wardrobe. The entire right wing was practically stripped bare!

I eyed the five bulging bags, unable to bite my tongue.

"Oliver, does the charity center have a monthly quota you are trying to hit?"

"No, Sienna, I swear! I only packed up the old seasonal pieces. You cannot fit into them right now anyway, and some are just a bit too young for a mother-to-be. I did not touch any of your new maternity wear."

For some reason, a bitter taste settled in the back of my throat.

Tossing out lotions and serums was one thing. They expired. But designer clothes? Even if I could not zip them up right now, I could wear them after the baby was born.

I pointed a manicured finger at the smallest bag. "Take that one to the shelter. Put everything else back."

"But Sienna, unpacking them is such a hassle. Plus, the fabrics are restrictive. You really should not wear them right now. Letting them collect dust is such a waste..."

A waste? Every single piece in those bags cost at least four figures. My money. He wanted to give them all away for a couple of printed tax receipts? Did he think I was born yesterday?

I gave him one sharp, icy glare. Oliver instantly shut his mouth, grabbed the bags, and silently started hanging everything back up.

I went back to my noodles, but my appetite was completely gone.

Later, Oliver hovered around me, offering a foot massage, asking if I wanted him to draw a bath.

If I ignored the wardrobe incident, the man was practically flawless.

"By the way, baby, I need to visit my mom at the hospital tonight. There is a little bit of the shrimp pasta left in the pan. Do you mind if I pack it up for her?"

"Go ahead."

Olivers mother was chronically ill. He spent multiple nights a week at the hospital keeping her company. When he quit his job, he told me it was to care for me, but I knew a big part of it was to manage his mothers care.

When I found out, I started quietly transferring two thousand dollars into his account every single week. He refused it at first, but eventually accepted it with tears in his eyes.

After Oliver left the penthouse, I curled up in bed and started scrolling through my feed. The algorithm loved feeding me pregnancy content.

A thumbnail caught my eye. The title read: Unboxing the Custom Luxury Pregnancy Skincare Hubby Got Me!

The velvet box in the picture was identical to the one Harper had just given me.

Harper told me the formulation was a one-of-a-kind exclusive. Was it possible someone else had the exact same order?

I clicked the video. A pretty, heavily pregnant woman was live streaming, showing off her favorite maternity items.

A cold chill crawled up my spine. Every single supplement, every brand of organic soap, aligned perfectly with my exact preferences.

Some of the prenatal vitamins she showcased were imported and virtually impossible to get locally.

The live chat was buzzing.

Omg! Everything you use is so high-end! What do you do for a living?

The streamer, who went by the name Daisy, giggled. "I am just a stay-at-home mom! My hubby works hard in the city. He spoils me with all these goodies."

I narrowed my eyes. Daisys supposed husband clearly had expensive taste and knew exactly what to buy. You did not just stumble across these specific luxury items without serious research.

Right at that moment, a familiar voice drifted from the background of the live stream.

"Honey, I am home!"

Even though the camera only caught the edge of his shoulder, I recognized him instantly.

He was wearing the limited-edition designer jacket I bought for his birthday. Oliver. What the hell was he doing there?

The chat started begging for the husband to show his face.

Daisy smiled coyly. "I cannot, guys! My hubby is a high-level corporate executive. Showing his face online might cause issues at his firm."

I let out a dark chuckle and typed a comment into the chat.

Why would showing his face affect his work? Does he have a whole other family hidden somewhere?

Instantly, Daisys loyal fans dogpiled on me.

Who is this bitter troll? Daisy and her man are couple goals! Stop spreading toxic rumors!

Exactly! Her husband treats her like a queen! Look, he even brought her dinner!

On the screen, Daisy opened a sleek glass Tupperware container. As she lifted the lid to reveal the food inside, the final piece of the puzzle snapped into place.

It was my zero-carb shrimp noodles.

"Hubby? Did you make this?"

"Yeah, minced the shrimp myself. Totally carb-free. I made a bigger batch, but some bloated old cow snatched the rest of it up."

A bloated... old cow?

I stared at the glowing screen, my entire body turning to stone.

My fingers moved on autopilot, clicking into her profile. Every single video was a showcase of the treasures Oliver had "disposed of" from my apartment.

So this was how he built "karma" for our child. What an absolute master of philanthropy.

No wonder Oliver never brought up getting married. He already had a wife playing house across town.

Taking my money under the guise of visiting his dying mother, only to feed his pregnant mistress.

When you hit the absolute peak of disgust, all you can really do is laugh.

I reached for my phone, fully prepared to dial his number and scorch the earth. But then Daisys whining voice drifted from the speaker.

"Hubby, where is that custom skincare set you promised me? I have been waiting to do the unboxing for my fans!"

"Sorry, baby, it is going to take a little longer. The bloated old cow at the office threw a fit over it. You know how it is, I have to play nice and let her have her way for now..."

A bloated old cow, huh?

I closed the app and made a completely different phone call.

"Trace Olivers phone. I need his exact location right now."

Half an hour later, Harper stormed into my penthouse, practically breathing fire.

"Why didn't you tell me sooner?! Where is that gold-digging piece of trash!"

She dragged me out to the car, fully intent on catching them in the act.

During the drive, she cursed his name to high heaven. I leaned against the window, my voice eerily calm.

"Oliver is scum, but maybe this Daisy girl is in the dark. She plays the innocent housewife act pretty well online."

The moment we pulled up to the gated community, my generous assumption was shattered.

Oliver and Daisy were strolling down the sidewalk, fingers intertwined. The look of pure adoration on his face was even more convincing than the act he put on for me. They were completely oblivious to our car idling in the shadows.

"Babe, you keep bringing me that old cows hand-me-downs," Daisy whined, swinging his arm. "When are we going to buy new stuff?"

"Most of those clothes still have the designer tags attached. If you do not want to wear them, just flip them online for cash."

"No! I want fresh clothes! Unopened makeup! A new house! I want everything brand new!"

Oliver wrapped a comforting arm around her waist. "Just hold on a little longer. Once she gives birth..."

"It is always 'hold on'! You promised you would marry me as soon as you secured the bag. Do you know how many years I have been waiting? Look at how big I am getting! I cannot wait anymore! The luxury recovery clinic, the nurses, it all costs money. We are still short forty grand!"

"I mean it this time," Oliver lowered his voice, the sound carrying perfectly through the crisp night air. "Once she delivers, staging an accident will be child's play. She has no family left. As the father of her child, I will naturally inherit the entire estate. When that happens, you can have all the new clothes in the world."

Daisy finally giggled, resting her head on his shoulder. "That is more like it. But... what if the cops look into it?"

"Relax, I have every angle covered." He pressed a kiss to her temple. "A lonely woman suffering from severe postpartum depression? Who knows what she might do to herself?"

Standing in the dark, my phone silently recording every word, the blood froze in my veins. Harper grabbed my hand, her grip bruising.

"Sienna, we are going to the police. Right now!"

I shook my head slowly, my eyes locked on the happy couple.

"Jail is too good for him right now."

We drove straight home. I ordered five bottles of industrial superglue, five bottles of heavy-duty gentian violet dye, and several vials of concentrated pepper extract.

I pulled out the gorgeous velvet skincare box and began our little arts and crafts project.

The next morning, the smell of breakfast woke me.

Oliver was back in his apron.

"Morning, Sienna. Oh, Harper, you are here too? Want some breakfast?"

Harper did not even look at him, aggressively stirring her black coffee.

I sat at the dining table, staring at the lavish spread. I picked up my mug and took a slow sip.

"What is wrong? Not hungry?" he asked, looking like a kicked puppy.

I forced a tight smile. Harper chimed in, her tone dripping with sarcasm. "We went out for midnight cravings last night. Stuffed our faces. She is still full."

"Harper, how could you take her out for junk food late at night? She is pregnant!"

Oliver furrowed his brow, playing the deeply concerned father to perfection.

Harper rolled her eyes and ignored him.

Oliver suddenly turned to me, his face shifting into a mask of pure tragedy. "Sienna, my mom took a turn for the worse last night. Could I... could I borrow forty grand to cover the new treatments? Even thirty-five would help!"

"How much? Forty grand?!" Harper slammed her mug down. "Oliver, you live in her house, eat her food, and she gives you eight thousand a month for doing nothing! Where exactly is all that money going?"

Yes, Oliver. Where exactly is the money going?

Oliver stammered, unable to formulate an excuse under Harpers glare. I stepped in, playing the saint.

"Your moms health comes first. I will lend it to you. Just use the black card."

"Sienna! You let him walk all over you!"

Harper threw her hands up in theatrical disgust. Olivers eyes lit up with greedy triumph, but his smug expression crashed when I dropped the next sentence.

"Though, given the amount this time, do you think we should write up a quick promissory note? Just for the records."

Oliver froze for a split second before nodding vigorously. "Of course! Absolutely!"

He scurried into the home office and drafted a perfectly formatted IOU. While he was busy, I quietly sent a text to my wealth manager, freezing the black card immediately.

He handed me the signed paper, even adding his thumbprint for good measure. I laughed softly. "You really wrote it out. Honestly, Oliver, you hold the card anyway. Writing an IOU... I really could not find a more honest man if I tried."

He scratched the back of his neck, looking bashful.

"Every penny I spend on that card, I want you to know about. I want everyone to know I love you for you, not your bank account."

He directed that last part at Harper. Harper and I locked eyes, both fighting the urge to burst into hysterical laughter.

Before he rushed out the door, I shoved the velvet skincare box into his hands.

"Actually, just throw this out for me. You were right. I need to be careful with chemicals. Keeping myself healthy is the priority."

Harper immediately played her part, shouting from the kitchen. "Hey! Sienna! I spent fifteen grand on that set!"

Hearing the price tag, Olivers eyes practically turned into dollar signs. He clutched the box to his chest and leaned in to hug me.

I smoothly pivoted, dodging his touch. "Hurry up and go. You do not want to delay your moms treatment."

Two hours later, Daisys livestream went live right on schedule. The title was nauseatingly sweet.

[Late Night Pampering! Hubby Unboxes 5-Figure Custom Skincare Set!]

Harper and I curled up on my plush sofa, armed with a giant bowl of popcorn. We had already texted my marketing team to quietly flood her stream with paid traffic.