I Found His Mistress... Wearing My Ring - Chapter 5: Chapter 5

Ray's eyes flew open wide, his fingers nearly dropping the phone. "This isn't some dream, right?" he gasped, breath coming short. "Where are you?"
"OB-GYN at Mercy General," Christine purred, satisfaction oozing through every syllable.
"I'm on my way!" The words tumbled out, barely containing his exhilaration.
The moment he hung up, his face did this creepy transformation - like someone flipped a switch from giddy to glacial. "Work emergency," he lied smoothly, already grabbing his jacket. "Stay here and think about how to act like a proper Mrs. Palmer. Maybe work on that patience of yours instead of flying off the handle all the time. A little maturity would suit you."
The audacity almost made me snort. I'd just heard every word of his booty call with Christine, yet he treated me like some clueless child who couldn't connect obvious dots.
Ray straightened his tie, his voice turning arctic. "Once we're married, things'll calm down. But Jesus, Susan, dial back the drama. No man wants a walking soap opera." His glare carried a silent warning. "A little fire can be sexy, but keep pushing and you'll wreck whatever we've got."
Whatever we've got. The phrase stabbed deeper than any knife.
Before I could fire back, he snatched up his briefcase, flashing a smile that didn't reach his eyes. "Wedding plans are handled. Just play your part, sweetheart." The door slammed like punctuation on his exit.
Three days before the wedding, my student visa arrived. Calling my parents felt like lifting a boulder off my chest. To my shock, there was no "I told you so."
"Thank God you woke up," Dad exhaled, the relief practically vibrating through the phone. "That Palmer kid was never worthy of you. But try telling young love anything."
I swallowed the lump in my throat. "From now on, the only people getting my love are you, Mom, and me."
The nursery felt like a museum of dead dreams. Each tiny sock, each rattle mocked the family I'd imagined. I boxed it all up for the new neighbors with their screaming newborn. When the door clicked shut on that empty room, it felt like closing a coffin on my old self.
That afternoon, police sirens shattered the quiet. I was heading to investigate when the door exploded inward. Ray charged at me, face ghost-white, and crushed me in a hug that smelled like someone else's perfume. "Thank Christ you're okay!"
I shoved him off like he was radioactive. "What the hell, Ray?"
Thirty minutes earlier, Christine's Instagram had served me a lovely slideshow: #HotSpringRetreat with Ray's hands glued to her hips, her lipstick smeared on his cheek. The image burned behind my eyelids as Christine's shrill voice cut through the room.
"Turning off your phone like some dramatic teenager!" She stormed in, shooting daggers at me. "Mr. Palmer abandoned a multi-million dollar deal because some burglary rumor had him panicking about precious Susan!"
Ray whirled on her, face thunderous. "Shut your mouth! This doesn't concern you. Get back to the office."
Christine's jaw dropped. Tears welled up on command as her hand fluttered to her stomach. "Fine. The baby and I know when we're not wanted." Her exit was all dramatic flounces, but not before tossing me a look that could curdle milk.
Ray massaged his temples like his skull might crack. Watching him unravel, I expected to feel something - rage, heartbreak, something. Instead, there was just quiet certainty. This ###Chapter was over.