The Consultant’s Postpartum Trap - Chapter 7: Chapter 7
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Ever since I discovered my husband's betrayal, I've learned the hard way that counting on anyone else is a losing game. From now on, it's just me and our child—no more illusions.
Then, finally, the day arrived. He walked through the door after his so-called "business trip."
"Sweetheart, Daddy's home!"
The second he crossed the threshold, he swept our child into his arms, all exaggerated smiles and performative affection.
I couldn't help but wonder—did it ever cross his mind, tangled up in some other woman's sheets, that he still had a family? That he was still a father?
When he noticed my quiet demeanor, he mistook it for neglect and reached for me with that same practiced smile.
I shifted back just enough, letting his arms close on empty air.
"Go wash up," I said, voice steady as I reclaimed our child. "Dinner's ready."
Miraculously, he remained clueless, humming as he disappeared down the hall.
Later, over dinner, I kept my face unreadable. Then, calm as ever, I asked:
"Is there anything you need to tell me?"
His hand hovered in midair, a split-second look of panic crossing his features before his practiced mask slipped back into place.
A sly smile curled his lips. "What makes you think I got you anything?"
His gaze burned into mine, hungry for any tell, any reaction.
I allowed myself the faintest smirk. If he wasn't ready to come clean, I could play the waiting game too.
After all, my decision was already made.
Had he come to me with honesty, we might have ended things civilly.
But now? Every shred of hesitation had evaporated.
While he was at the office, I installed the hidden cameras I'd purchased weeks ago—one discreetly positioned in the living room, another with a perfect view of our bed.
If evidence wasn't forthcoming, I'd manufacture it myself.
Documenting his betrayal would be crucial when dividing our assets and fighting for custody.
I invited my best friend over for the weekend, dangling the promise of a special gift.
"Sophia, you absolute angel!" Her squeal of delight practically vibrated through the phone.
A cold smile twisted my lips. Was she excited about the present—or about getting her hands on what she really wanted?
Then, finally, the day arrived. He walked through the door after his so-called "business trip."
"Sweetheart, Daddy's home!"
The second he crossed the threshold, he swept our child into his arms, all exaggerated smiles and performative affection.
I couldn't help but wonder—did it ever cross his mind, tangled up in some other woman's sheets, that he still had a family? That he was still a father?
When he noticed my quiet demeanor, he mistook it for neglect and reached for me with that same practiced smile.
I shifted back just enough, letting his arms close on empty air.
"Go wash up," I said, voice steady as I reclaimed our child. "Dinner's ready."
Miraculously, he remained clueless, humming as he disappeared down the hall.
Later, over dinner, I kept my face unreadable. Then, calm as ever, I asked:
"Is there anything you need to tell me?"
His hand hovered in midair, a split-second look of panic crossing his features before his practiced mask slipped back into place.
A sly smile curled his lips. "What makes you think I got you anything?"
His gaze burned into mine, hungry for any tell, any reaction.
I allowed myself the faintest smirk. If he wasn't ready to come clean, I could play the waiting game too.
After all, my decision was already made.
Had he come to me with honesty, we might have ended things civilly.
But now? Every shred of hesitation had evaporated.
While he was at the office, I installed the hidden cameras I'd purchased weeks ago—one discreetly positioned in the living room, another with a perfect view of our bed.
If evidence wasn't forthcoming, I'd manufacture it myself.
Documenting his betrayal would be crucial when dividing our assets and fighting for custody.
I invited my best friend over for the weekend, dangling the promise of a special gift.
"Sophia, you absolute angel!" Her squeal of delight practically vibrated through the phone.
A cold smile twisted my lips. Was she excited about the present—or about getting her hands on what she really wanted?
End of The Consultant’s Postpartum Trap Chapter 7. Continue reading Chapter 8 or return to The Consultant’s Postpartum Trap book page.