I was overjoyed when my best friend announced her pregnancy just days after mine. Then I discovered my husband had fathered her child as well. Rather than confront them, I arranged an unexpected presentation at our gender reveal. What appeared on the screen left them speechless.

“Are you really going to let Paige stand beside us when we cut the cake?”

My husband, Ryan, glanced away from his phone.

“Why wouldn’t I?”

“Because it’s our gender reveal. Not hers.”

He furrowed his brow.

“She’s your best friend, Natalie. I thought you’d want her involved.”

Three days earlier, I would have agreed. Now, I suspected they were concealing something far worse than an affair.

Ryan and I had been married five years before I conceived. We’d tried almost since our wedding, enduring one heartbreaking negative test after another.

When two pink lines finally appeared, I cried on the bathroom floor.

Ryan found me there.

“What’s wrong?”

I showed him the test.

“Are you serious?”

I nodded, and he dropped to his knees, wrapping his arms around me.

“We’re having a baby.”

Those first days were wonderful.

Then Paige visited.

We’d been inseparable since high school. After twenty years, she felt like family. She’d been my maid of honor and supported me throughout my fertility struggles.

That afternoon, she appeared unusually anxious.

“Nat, I have something to tell you.”

“What happened?”

She touched her stomach.

“I’m pregnant too.”

I squealed and embraced her.

Ryan appeared.

“What’s going on?”

“Paige is pregnant!”

Surprise flashed across his face before he smiled.

“Wow. Congratulations.”

I assumed he was simply caught off guard.

Because Paige was single, I asked about the father.

“Honey, I went out with this guy a few times. I thought everything was going great, but when I told him I was pregnant, he just disappeared.”

“That’s terrible.”

She lowered her gaze.

“I guess I’ll be doing this alone.”

I squeezed her hand.

“No, you won’t.”

I kept that promise.

We shopped for maternity clothes together, and I bought her a dress she couldn’t afford. Whenever morning sickness overwhelmed her, I delivered groceries and offered to attend appointments.

Ryan occasionally objected.

“You’re pregnant too, Natalie. You need to rest.”

“Paige doesn’t have anyone.”

“She’ll manage.”

Yet he displayed an odd curiosity about her pregnancy, frequently asking about her health, medical appointments, and whether she’d heard from the father.

When I said she hadn’t, he seemed relieved.

I understood none of it.

As our gender reveal approached, Paige enthusiastically volunteered to organize decorations, cake designs, and arrangements with Lauren, our event planner.

“Let me do something for you,” she insisted.

I accepted.

Lauren arranged a gathering with loved ones, a cake filled with the appropriate color, and a slideshow.

Paige became especially interested in the presentation.

“Can we include pictures of both pregnancies?”

“Both?”

“Two best friends becoming mothers together. Isn’t that special?”

I found the idea touching.

Then she questioned whether the screen would remain active during the cake cutting.

“Probably. Why?”

“Just wondering.”

Later, she asked about a microphone.

“Are you planning a speech?”

“Maybe a little surprise.”

I imagined something sentimental.

Ryan soon raised similar questions.

“Does Lauren control the screen?”

“Yes.”

“And Paige has spoken to her?”

“I think so.”

I didn’t recognize the significance until three days before the party.

Ryan left his tablet on the kitchen counter. Repeated notifications eventually prompted me to pick it up.

Its unlocked screen displayed Paige’s message.

“Baby, where are you? I’ve been waiting for you at our hotel forever 💋”

My body went rigid.

Perhaps she’d messaged the wrong person.

Another notification shattered that hope.

“Listen, I’ve been thinking… how are we going to explain to Natalie why both babies will look like you? 😂 She’ll probably think it’s just ‘fate’ and never realize you’re the father of my baby too.”

I sank into a chair.

Ryan was Paige’s baby’s father.

Their conversation contained months of hotel bookings, photographs, and secret meetings scheduled around my work.

Worse, they discussed my generosity.

Paige had mentioned the maternity clothes I’d purchased. Ryan replied that keeping her happy made everything easier.

I’d been caring for my husband’s pregnant mistress while they mocked my kindness.

Despite wanting to confront them, I photographed the evidence.

Then Paige called.

“Hey, Nat! Did you confirm the slideshow with Lauren?”

“Not yet.”

“Could you do it today?”

“Why?”

“I want everything to be perfect.”

Staring at the tablet, I asked:

“Paige, are you happy?”

“What kind of question is that?”

“With the baby. With everything.”

After a pause, she replied:

“I think things are finally working out.”

Once we disconnected, I continued reading.

One exchange stood out.

“Saturday is going to change everything.”

Ryan answered:

“Just stick to what we discussed.”

Another message revealed Paige’s expectations.

“After Saturday, I won’t have to pretend we’re just friends anymore.”

They were planning something for my celebration.

That evening, Ryan returned and affectionately greeted me.

“How’s our little one?”

“Fine.”

“Almost time to find out.”

Watching him stroll into the kitchen, I struggled to reconcile our marriage with his secret life.

I barely slept.

The next morning, I arranged to meet Lauren.

“Can we meet?”

“Of course. Is something wrong?”

“I need to check the party arrangements.”

At the venue, Lauren reviewed the schedule before revealing something troubling.

“Actually, Paige contacted me yesterday.”

“What did she want?”

“She asked whether we could add another announcement after your cake cutting.”

“Another announcement?”

“She said it would be a surprise for the family.”

“Did she explain?”

“Not really. She said Ryan knew.”

“Did you agree?”

“No. I told her I’d need your permission.”

When I asked about the materials, Lauren explained:

“She said she’d bring everything on Saturday.”

That afternoon, Paige arrived carrying decorations, wearing the blue maternity dress I’d bought her.

“Only two days!” she said.

“You’re excited.”

“Of course.”

As she unpacked ribbons, I questioned her story.

“Have you heard from your baby’s father?”

“Why?”

“I wondered whether he might come back.”

She gave an uneasy laugh.

“I doubt it.”

“Would you take him back?”

“Maybe. If he proved he was serious.”

“Even after abandoning you?”

“People make mistakes, Nat.”

“Some mistakes are hard to forgive.”

“That’s true.”

She quickly redirected our conversation toward the cake.

I allowed it, determined to discover their intentions before acting.

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