I Found His Mistress... Wearing My Ring - Chapter 1: Chapter 1
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The day I found out I was pregnant, my heart swelled with hope and excitement. I could already picture Ray's face when I told him—I'd planned a quiet candlelit dinner, the ultrasound tucked into an envelope for him to discover. But before I could share the news, my world shattered.
I came home early to surprise him, only to hear voices drifting from his study. Normally, I wouldn't think twice about Ray having friends over, but something in his tone made me freeze outside the door, my pulse hammering in my throat.
"You've kept that girl as your mistress for five years," one of his friends teased, voice laced with amusement. "Aren't you gonna make it official?"
Ray's chuckle sent ice through my veins. "If Susan finds out, she'll leave me. I can't risk that."
Their laughter erupted, sharp and mocking. Another voice chimed in, dripping with admiration: "You're a real piece of work, man. Even your cheating is calculated."
Each word cut deeper than the last. My hands shook as I pushed the door open, stepping into their circle like an unwelcome ghost. Ray barely flinched—just flashed me that smooth, practiced smile and slid a ring onto my finger like it was nothing.
"Wedding's next month," he announced, his voice oozing fake enthusiasm. "I've got work tonight, so go have fun trying on dresses. I'll see you later."
His touch lingered just long enough to make my skin crawl. I knew exactly where he was really going—to Christine Brooks, the artist he had under contract. He'd booked them a romantic suite, another betrayal in a long line of them.
I forced a smile, playing the clueless fiancée, but inside, I was breaking.
The next day, I sat in Arlington Hospital's sterile waiting room, my decision made. I couldn't bring a child into this mess.
"Are you sure?" my doctor asked gently. "At ten weeks, the baby's heartbeat is strong."
I clenched my fists and nodded. "Schedule it."
While I waited, my phone buzzed. Christine had posted a video on Moments. My stomach twisted, but I clicked anyway.
There he was—Ray, down on one knee, holding out a diamond ring that glittered like his lies. The caption read: To my dearest Mr. Palmer, love always finds a way.
And below it, Ray's comment: Happy five-year anniversary to us.
My breath vanished. Five years. The entire time we'd been together. It wasn't just an affair—it was a whole other life.
Suddenly, every lie snapped into place: the CB tattoo he'd brushed off as "abstract," the receipts for jewelry I never saw, the "work trips" to Paris—Christine had been there all along.
Love doesn't fade. It just moves on.
After the procedure, I stayed in the hospital for three days. My body ached, but my soul hurt worse. I wasn't just losing a baby—I was losing every illusion I'd ever had about Ray.
On the third day, he finally showed up, alerted by a friend. He walked in with fake concern etched on his face—and Christine trailing behind him, her smirk sharp enough to draw blood.
"Susan, don't overreact," she purred, oozing fake sympathy. "Mr. Palmer's under a lot of stress. Maybe you should take better care of yourself."
Ray didn't defend me. Didn't even look at me. Just told his assistant to handle my discharge, his attention already back on Christine.
When the nurse left, I dragged myself to the stairwell—and there they were. Ray had Christine pinned against the wall, kissing her like she was the only woman in the world. My chest caved in as I watched him hold her the way he used to hold me.
When they finally pulled apart, Christine nuzzled against him, her voice sugar-sweet:
"Why does Susan always cause trouble?" She pouted, tracing circles on his chest. "Tonight's my ovulation day. You promised me something to hold onto."
Ray smirked, tightening his grip on her waist. "That eager for my kid?"
She giggled. "I need security—whether as your wife or the mother of your child."
He leaned in, his whisper slicing through me:
"Fine. Our usual spot tonight. I'll make sure you're satisfied."
I came home early to surprise him, only to hear voices drifting from his study. Normally, I wouldn't think twice about Ray having friends over, but something in his tone made me freeze outside the door, my pulse hammering in my throat.
"You've kept that girl as your mistress for five years," one of his friends teased, voice laced with amusement. "Aren't you gonna make it official?"
Ray's chuckle sent ice through my veins. "If Susan finds out, she'll leave me. I can't risk that."
Their laughter erupted, sharp and mocking. Another voice chimed in, dripping with admiration: "You're a real piece of work, man. Even your cheating is calculated."
Each word cut deeper than the last. My hands shook as I pushed the door open, stepping into their circle like an unwelcome ghost. Ray barely flinched—just flashed me that smooth, practiced smile and slid a ring onto my finger like it was nothing.
"Wedding's next month," he announced, his voice oozing fake enthusiasm. "I've got work tonight, so go have fun trying on dresses. I'll see you later."
His touch lingered just long enough to make my skin crawl. I knew exactly where he was really going—to Christine Brooks, the artist he had under contract. He'd booked them a romantic suite, another betrayal in a long line of them.
I forced a smile, playing the clueless fiancée, but inside, I was breaking.
The next day, I sat in Arlington Hospital's sterile waiting room, my decision made. I couldn't bring a child into this mess.
"Are you sure?" my doctor asked gently. "At ten weeks, the baby's heartbeat is strong."
I clenched my fists and nodded. "Schedule it."
While I waited, my phone buzzed. Christine had posted a video on Moments. My stomach twisted, but I clicked anyway.
There he was—Ray, down on one knee, holding out a diamond ring that glittered like his lies. The caption read: To my dearest Mr. Palmer, love always finds a way.
And below it, Ray's comment: Happy five-year anniversary to us.
My breath vanished. Five years. The entire time we'd been together. It wasn't just an affair—it was a whole other life.
Suddenly, every lie snapped into place: the CB tattoo he'd brushed off as "abstract," the receipts for jewelry I never saw, the "work trips" to Paris—Christine had been there all along.
Love doesn't fade. It just moves on.
After the procedure, I stayed in the hospital for three days. My body ached, but my soul hurt worse. I wasn't just losing a baby—I was losing every illusion I'd ever had about Ray.
On the third day, he finally showed up, alerted by a friend. He walked in with fake concern etched on his face—and Christine trailing behind him, her smirk sharp enough to draw blood.
"Susan, don't overreact," she purred, oozing fake sympathy. "Mr. Palmer's under a lot of stress. Maybe you should take better care of yourself."
Ray didn't defend me. Didn't even look at me. Just told his assistant to handle my discharge, his attention already back on Christine.
When the nurse left, I dragged myself to the stairwell—and there they were. Ray had Christine pinned against the wall, kissing her like she was the only woman in the world. My chest caved in as I watched him hold her the way he used to hold me.
When they finally pulled apart, Christine nuzzled against him, her voice sugar-sweet:
"Why does Susan always cause trouble?" She pouted, tracing circles on his chest. "Tonight's my ovulation day. You promised me something to hold onto."
Ray smirked, tightening his grip on her waist. "That eager for my kid?"
She giggled. "I need security—whether as your wife or the mother of your child."
He leaned in, his whisper slicing through me:
"Fine. Our usual spot tonight. I'll make sure you're satisfied."
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