I opened our message thread, my hands trembling. I typed—pretending to be him.
Come over. We should talk. My wife isn’t home today.
I hit send before I could think.
Her answer came instantly: Okay. I’m on my way.
If Caleb wasn’t involved, he’d react—ask what I was doing, tell me I was confused.
But when I returned to the kitchen, he glanced at me, then at my phone. “Everything alright?” he asked, voice a little too careful.
“Family stuff,” I said.
Ten minutes later, the doorbell rang.
Caleb froze. His face drained like someone had unplugged him from the world. Slowly, he whispered, “What… did you do?”
He already knew. That was my answer.
“I invited Mariah over,” I said evenly. “Is that a problem?”
His panic said everything he wouldn’t.
The doorbell rang again.
“What is she pregnant with?” I asked softly.
He didn’t answer.
So I asked the real question. “Is it yours?”
His mouth opened, closed. Then a whisper: “It was one time. It meant nothing.”
The words struck like a slap.
Mariah knocked harder. “Ellie?” she called. “Please open.”
I moved around Caleb, ignoring his attempt to block me, and opened the door.
Mariah stood there with red eyes and shaking hands. When she saw Caleb behind me, she flinched.
“You told me she wasn’t home,” she whispered.
I stepped aside and asked, “How far along?”
“Ten weeks,” she said, voice breaking.
Ten weeks of lies.
“Did you tell him you couldn’t abort?” I asked.
She nodded, crying harder. “He told me to fix it before you found out.”
I led her to the couch. “Sit,” I said. “Tell me everything.”
Piece by piece, the truth spilled out: how Caleb came to her apartment while I was working late, complaining that I didn’t have time for him. How he kissed her, pushed for more, then told her it “couldn’t happen again.” How he texted afterward anyway. How he panicked when she told him she was pregnant.
When I asked if he’d given her money, she nodded.
Caleb tried to interrupt, but I cut him off with a stare.
“You’re leaving,” I told him.
He scoffed. “This is my house too.”
I pulled out my phone. “Then stay for now. I’ll call a lawyer—and your mother, since she loves to ‘keep up appearances.’”
The threat hit him where it mattered. His expression shifted—no shame, only calculation.
That alone told me everything.
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