I was scrolling through my phone during my maternity recovery when I stumbled across a local help-wanted post:

"My mistress is almost due, and she wants to have the baby abroad. My mom adores her and wants to go along to take care of her, but my wife is still in postpartum recovery right now. How do I get my wife to agree to let me and my mom go overseas for a while?"

The comments were tearing the guy apart, but the poster had liked one reply in particular:

"Easy. Just tell your wife your mom has a serious illness and needs to go abroad for treatment."

I was still shaking my head, feeling sorry for whatever poor woman was stuck with a husband and mother-in-law like that, when my own husband walked in holding a medical report.

"Honey, my mom just found out she has a heart condition. She needs surgery overseas as soon as possible. I'll probably have to stay with her abroad while she's being treated."

……

I stared at the report in Brad Delgado's hand, and my heart gave a sharp, involuntary lurch. The post I'd just read flashed through my mind before I could stop it.

It had to be a coincidence.

Brad was famous for how much he loved me. Everyone knew it.

During my entire pregnancy, he'd cooked me a different meal every single day, never repeating a dish. When my body ached from carrying the baby, no matter how late he got home or how exhausted he was, he'd massage me until I fell asleep. The day I went into labor, he'd paced outside the delivery room like a man losing his mind.

After the baby was born, everyone crowded around the newborn, laughing and cooing. Everyone except Brad. He'd gripped my hand and cried so hard his nose was running.

"I'm sorry, babe. I'm so sorry you had to go through that."

During my recovery, he'd turned down every work obligation and stayed home with his mother to look after me and the baby. Jean handled the housework during the day. Brad took over feedings, diaper changes, and baths. He'd even moved into the guest room with the baby at night so I could sleep through undisturbed.

A husband who treated me like I hung the moon—how could he possibly be the man in that post?

I steadied myself and asked, trying to sound casual:

"Isn't Mom in good health, though? How did it suddenly become so urgent that she needs surgery?"

Brad shook his head, anxiety written all over his face.

"I don't know. She's been complaining about chest pain the last few days, so I took her in for a checkup today. The doctor said it's serious. They need to operate right away."

"And after the surgery, she'll need at least two months of rest to recover."

Two months.

Exactly long enough to see a woman through delivery and postpartum recovery.

Something cold settled in my stomach, but I pressed on, keeping my voice light.

"I know one of the best cardiologists abroad. Why don't I reach out for you?"

Brad waved his hands frantically. "No, no, that's not necessary."

He seemed to realize how abrupt that sounded, because he caught himself immediately. He took my hands in his, guilt flooding his face.

"Babe, this is the most critical part of your recovery. Mom and I won't even be here to take care of you, and I already feel terrible about that." His voice cracked. "How could I ask you to worry about this on top of everything else?"

His eyes were rimmed with red as he spoke.

Like his heart was breaking for me.

But my gaze had drifted down and locked onto his hand.

There, on the web between his right thumb and forefinger, was a scar.

Identical to the one in the poster's profile picture.

If I remembered correctly, he'd gotten that scar three months ago.

I'd just finished a prenatal checkup, and Brad was walking me out of the hospital. An unleashed German shepherd came snarling out of nowhere, lunging straight at me.

Brad hadn't hesitated. He'd thrown himself in front of me and fought the dog off with his bare hands.

In the end, the animal had torn a chunk of flesh from the web of his hand.

Blood everywhere. Seventeen stitches.

I'd cried so hard I couldn't stop wiping my eyes, but Brad just smiled and tried to comfort me:

"Don't cry. As long as you and the baby are safe, a scar is nothing. I'd have given up the whole hand and it still would've been worth it."

That scar, once a symbol of his love, now stung like a needle pressed against my chest.

I reached out and traced the scar between Brad's thumb and forefinger.

"Does this still hurt?"

He blinked, caught off guard, then curled his hand closed.

"That stopped hurting a long time ago. Why are you suddenly asking?"

I lowered my gaze and said softly, "I just started thinking about the old days."

"You were so good to me and the baby back then."

Brad smiled, that indulgent smile of his, and wrapped both hands around mine.

"Silly girl. Am I not good to you now?"

"From the moment you got pregnant, I swore to myself I'd lay down my life to keep you and our child safe."

His eyes reddened as he spoke, his voice thick with sincerity. "Babe, I know I shouldn't be leaving you right now."

"But she's my mother. She raised me all on her own. I can't bear the thought of her going through surgery overseas by herself."

"You've always been so understanding. You get it, don't you?"

I looked into those anxious, hopeful eyes and nodded.

"Of course."

"Her condition is serious. I'd never stand in the way of you taking care of her."

Brad let out a breath of relief.

"Marrying a woman as kind and reasonable as you is the greatest blessing of my life."

He gazed at me, his face full of tenderness, his eyes brimming with the same devotion I'd seen a thousand times before.

But I wasn't moved by it anymore.

I couldn't help wondering. All that love I'd been so proud of—how much of it had been real, and how much had been a lie?

When had it started between him and that woman?

While I was lost in those thoughts, my mother-in-law walked in.

She must have overheard our conversation. The moment she stepped through the door, her eyes were already rimmed with red.

"Jill, I'm sorry. I'm getting old, and I haven't been any help to you. Instead, I'm causing trouble at the very time you need someone by your side."

Her voice cracked. Tears pooled along her lower lashes.

I looked at her, a tangle of emotions knotting in my chest.

In all the years since the wedding, Jean Delgado and I had always gotten along well. Every year on her birthday, I remembered the date before Brad did, starting on her gift a full month in advance. When she mentioned that the old family house was falling apart, I emptied my savings without a second thought and hired a crew to renovate it into something beautiful. Last year, when she broke her leg and ended up in the hospital, I was the one at her bedside every single day—sponge-bathing her, feeding her, handling the bedpan.

She had held my hand that day, tears streaming down her face. "Jill, you are the best daughter-in-law in the world."

"If my son ever does anything to wrong you, I'll be the first one to make him pay."

I had believed her.

I thought sincerity would be repaid with sincerity.

I never imagined that the same woman who swore she'd have my back would leave during my maternity recovery to help her son take care of another woman going through hers.

How absurd.

I looked at her and managed a small smile. "Mom, don't say that. Your health comes first. I'll be fine here."

Jean nodded, visibly relieved.

"Good. Good girl."

"Don't you worry. Once I've recovered, I'll come straight back and take care of you and the baby properly. I won't let you suffer one bit."

I gave a quiet laugh and said nothing.

Brad booked their flights for the next morning.

Early the following day, he and Jean showed up at my bedroom door with their luggage. They fussed over every detail—reminding me to keep warm, warning me not to touch cold water.

Maybe they genuinely worried. Or maybe they just wanted to put on a thorough performance.

They'd even taken a pen and jotted down a long list of reminders, leaving the notes on my nightstand. The way they fussed over every little detail, you'd think leaving was tearing them apart.

Jean wiped the corners of her eyes as she stepped out of the room.

"Jill, sweetheart, I can't bear to leave you, and I can't bear to leave the baby. But this illness won't wait. I just don't have a choice."

Brad wrapped his arm around my shoulders, his eyes rimmed red.

"Honey, I've already hired a postpartum nurse for you. The second Mom's better, I'm coming straight home. I promise. Not one extra day."

I nodded and watched them leave.

It wasn't until they were gone that something occurred to me.

The moment it did, I grabbed my phone and called my parents, asking them to come over right away.

They must have heard the urgency in my voice, because they arrived in record time.

"What's going on, Jill? You sounded frantic on the phone."

I didn't hold back. I told them everything in one breath—how Brad and his mother had conspired to deceive me, how they were really going to take care of his pregnant mistress during her maternity recovery.

When I finished, my father couldn't believe it.

"Jill, could this be a misunderstanding? Everyone can see how good that boy is to you."

"And your mother-in-law has treated you like her own daughter all these years."

"Why would the two of them team up to lie to you?"

"What if it's just a coincidence? What if Jean really is sick?"

My mother shut that down immediately. "Not a chance!"

"I saw her two days ago in the courtyard doing her line dancing. Two solid hours without breaking a sweat. That woman is healthier than an ox. Heart disease? Please."

"And Brad Delgado—when he married you, he knelt on those front steps until his forehead bled, swearing he'd treat you right. Now he has the nerve to gang up with his mother and pull something like this?"

My mother was furious.

But what I felt more than anger was confusion.

Because my father was right.

All these years, Brad had been nothing but good to me.

He was young, successful, and devastatingly handsome. There was never a shortage of women throwing themselves at him.

Even his boss's daughter had gone out of her way to pursue him, openly declaring that if Brad would be with her, the entire company could bear his name.

Brad hadn't so much as flinched.

He'd turned her down flat, offending her so badly that he'd nearly been blacklisted from the entire industry.

Even then, he never wavered. He looked me in the eyes and said:

"I can lose everything in this world. The one thing I can't lose is you."

As for Jean, she'd treated me even better than she treated Brad, her own flesh and blood.

One night I'd been hit with acute appendicitis. The pain was so severe I couldn't stand. Brad was away on a business trip, and it was Jean—in the dead of winter, through howling wind and snow—who hoisted my unconscious body onto her back and ran for miles to get me to the hospital.

That night, the cold nearly cost her both legs.

But she was so worried I'd blame myself that she gritted her teeth and never said a word.

It wasn't until Brad came home and saw that both her legs had turned black that he rushed her to the emergency room.

Even the doctor was shaken, saying she'd been gambling with her own life.

Jean had only smiled. "As long as Jill is okay, nothing else matters."

It was precisely because I'd felt their love so deeply, so genuinely, that I couldn't make sense of any of this.

What kind of woman could possibly make Brad—a man who loved me that much—and Jean—a woman who treated me like her own—betray me at the same time?

"Let's go. We're heading to the airport right now to see what the hell is going on."

My father shot to his feet, snatched his car keys off the table, and headed for the door.

My mother was right behind him, cursing under her breath as she went: