By year's end, I'd closed a huge deal and snagged a $2.5 million bonus. The company even sent me on early maternity leave—nice perk for being eight months pregnant.

Pauline found me lounging on the couch. "Why aren't you at work?"

I cracked a joke. "Got fired. Guess I'll be stuck here playing housewife."

Her response? A slap across my back.

"Then get off and do the laundry! You're having a girl, not a son, and you think you can sit around like some princess?"

My husband, Logan, walked in right then. He just pulled her into the nursery.

Feeling hurt, I switched on the hidden cameras I'd secretly installed. I thought maybe he'd defend me.

Yeah, no. What I uncovered?

It was so much worse. Twisted secret after twisted secret.

Pauline hurled a grocery bag at me. A solid potato slammed into my belly, and a sharp pain shot through my abdomen.

"Julie Kane! I've been holding back for too long! You prance around all dolled up every day—anyone would think you're selling yourself on the street! No decent boss would keep someone as indecent as you!"

I froze.

Where was this coming from?

Three months ago, Logan told me she was coming to help since I was in my third trimester.

"I'm traveling a lot for work," he'd said. "I'll feel better if Mom's here with you."

It sounded reasonable. His promotion had him out of town constantly, and I was struggling to keep up. Besides, Pauline and I had always gotten along fine during her brief visits. So, I agreed.

At first, she was a saint—cooked every meal, wouldn't let me lift a finger.

"You've got a full-time job," she'd said. "No need to bother with cooking."

Honestly, I never expected the classic mother-in-law meltdown. But one joke—one stupid joke—and everything flipped.

"Don't you know to stand when an elder speaks? A girl with no father or mother has no manners!"

Her words cut deeper than any slap.

I lost my parents when I was fifteen. The first time I visited Logan's family, Pauline held my hand with tears in her eyes.

"I've always regretted not having a daughter," she'd said. "From now on, you're my own."

I believed her. I wanted to believe her. Even when we disagreed, I bent over backward to keep the peace.

So, why? Why had one careless joke turned her into this monster?

I was still processing her sudden outburst when Pauline kept going.

"Life in the city's expensive enough! Now all the burden's on Logan!"

Before I could react, she stormed over and slapped me across the back—so hard I tumbled off the couch. My knees hit the floor with a dull thud.

I instinctively cradled my belly, trying to explain, "Pau—"

I didn't even get her name out before she plopped onto the couch and—God help me—propped her smelly feet right on my back.

She leaned in, pressing her full weight down on me.

"What the hell are you doing?" I shouted in disbelief.

She scoffed. "Teaching you how to be a proper McCory daughter-in-law. I put up with you when Logan said you brought in money.

"But now? You're just a freeloader. Time to quit acting like you're somebody.

"And don't think I've forgotten! You threw out that whole pot of stewed chicken I made! Do you know how much that bird cost?"

I remembered the day Logan told me Pauline was coming.

I spent two days scrubbing the house, setting up a guest bed, and loading the fridge with fresh groceries.

She didn't come empty-handed. Pauline strutted in with a plastic bag, pulling out a pot of stewed chicken.

"Organic chicken! You can't get this in the city. It'll be great for Julie's health!"

Logan muttered something about it being unnecessary, but I took the pot with a polite smile.

That chicken?

It had spent two days on a train. By the time it got here, it was completely rancid.

***

"That chicken was spoiled. Didn't Logan tell—"

Before I could finish, Pauline kicked me hard, sending me sprawling.

"You're still talking back?!" she barked. "A beggar doesn't get to be picky! Just because you're carrying a girl, you think you're some kind of hero?"

I frowned, ready to fire back, when the front door swung open.

Logan strolled in, grinning at his phone. Then he glanced up—and froze.

"What's going on here?"

Before I could speak, Pauline cut in. "Ask your precious wife! She got herself fired! Poor Logan—you finally make something of yourself, and she just leeches off you! And when I called her out, she had the nerve to talk back!"

Then she turned her glare on me. "Julie Kane! Listen up—this is your one and only warning. Pull that again, and you're out of this house!"

Logan scowled. "You got fired?"

I was stunned.

I was eight months pregnant, lying on the floor after his mother kicked me, and that's what he cared about?

A cold wave swept over me.

Looking at the man I'd been married to for three years, I suddenly didn't feel like clearing things up.

"If you think I'm freeloading too," I said quietly, "then you and your mom can figure out which one of us should leave this house."

When we got married, Logan didn't have much.

This house? It was mine. The inheritance my parents left me.

And here I was—an eight-month pregnant woman, kicked to the floor and told to get out.

In my own home.

***

I lay in bed, tears slipping silently down my cheeks.

Then I heard them—Logan leading Pauline into the nursery. My heart clenched, but then I remembered something: the camera.

I'd set it up a few days ago.

It was supposed to help me keep an eye on the baby in the future. I hadn't mentioned it to Logan or Pauline.

I needed to know how Logan would handle Pauline, so I grabbed my phone and opened the app.

What I saw—what I heard—made my blood run cold.

Pauline said, "You kept saying she might get a promotion and a year-end bonus. Well, that's out the window now! Fired! And she's about to give birth.

"That other one is about to give birth too. How are you supposed to support two families on one paycheck? Just thinking about it makes me feel so bad for you!"

The other one?

Two families?

Was she saying Logan had someone else?

When I thought about how Logan had been traveling more lately, my stomach dropped.

And those late-night moments...

During my third trimester, I'd been up constantly to pee. More than once, I found him sitting on the toilet, grinning at his phone.

Sometimes he'd be so lost in his phone he wouldn't even notice me walk in. When he finally did, he'd flinch, practically dropping the thing.

His excuse?

"Work's been stressful. I can't sleep, so I watch funny videos. I don't want to wake you by watching in bed."

There were moments I wondered if he was lying. But when I asked, Logan handed me his phone like it was nothing.

"Go ahead. Look. You're just hormonal from the pregnancy, imagining things."

I'd scrolled through his phone and found nothing.

In the end, I let it go.

I focused back on the baby monitor.

Instead of replying Pauline's question, Logan said, "I asked her team a few days ago. They said she was close to landing a huge deal and getting promoted. Why would she get fired out of nowhere?"

"Maybe she closed the deal and didn't want us to know. Doesn't want to share the money."

"I'll double-check with her team."

A chill shot down my spine.

He'd been talking to my team behind my back?

And I hadn't known a thing.

I quickly created a private group chat, pulling in my entire team.

Not having a family of my own had always made me cling tighter to the people I trusted. My team wasn't just colleagues—they called themselves my "work family."

I fired off a message:

[@Everyone, if Logan contacts any of you, here's the story—no big deal was signed, and I've been fired.]

I stared at my phone, every second dragging out painfully. Logan could not get a straight answer from anyone before I got to them.

A reply finally came through—from my assistant.

[You planning a surprise for your husband? He just asked me about it! I almost spilled the beans—don't worry, I'll play along. I'll make it sound worse. Got it!]

I exhaled in relief, then sent another message:

[My marriage is in serious trouble. I'll explain everything when I can, but for now, if Logan reaches out, make sure everyone sticks to the same story!]

The responses rolled in fast. No questions. No hesitation.

[Got it.]

[Got it.]

[Understood.]

Once I confirmed everyone was on board, I deleted the group chat.

I switched back to the baby monitor feed just in time to see Logan glaring at his phone.

"Julie really screwed it up. She lost the deal and got fired."

Pauline was frustrated as well. "Yana's due any day now! And I already promised her that $50k-a-month maternity center!"

When I first got pregnant, I'd suggested booking a postpartum care center too. Something to help with recovery, ease the transition into motherhood. I'd even found a great one at $15k a month.

But Pauline? She shot it down immediately. "Why waste money on strangers? No one will take care of you better than family!"

But now she was happily dropping fifty grand a month—for Yana?

That name hit me like a slap.

Yana.

Suddenly, a memory surfaced.

One afternoon, I'd forgotten some documents at home and doubled back to grab them. Pauline had been in the living room, laughing with a young, pregnant woman. The table was covered with the expensive fruits I'd bought—peels and cores littering the floor.

"She's my distant niece," Pauline had said. "She's here for a prenatal checkup."

And that woman's name?

Yana Twain.

At the time, Yana had looked at me with barely concealed hostility, her words sharp and laced with sarcasm.

Later, I vented to Logan.

His response?

"You're too sensitive."

Right. Sensitive.

Turns out, they'd been parading his mistress in front of me.

***

In the baby monitor feed, Logan said something before leaving the nursery.

Pauline rolled her eyes and muttered, "I've given her so much of that stuff. Why hasn't she lost the baby yet? Could the meds be fake? No way... I paid a fortune to Dr. Brophy back in my hometown for those."

A chill ran through me.

Pauline had been poisoning me.

My hands trembled.

Suddenly, the bedroom door swung open.

Logan.

I scrambled to close the baby monitor app, my heart racing.

Just moments ago, I'd heard him on the monitor. "The house is in her name. It's a premarital asset. We'll wait until we switch to a new house.

"If she behaves, fine. But if not? Well, an eight-month pregnant woman with no family—who's going to care if something happens to her?

"As long as we don't press charges, no one will bother investigating her death."

***

A while back, Logan said the house would feel too small once the baby came. We should sell it, upgrade to something bigger.

Two hours ago, I was all in on that future—thinking my bonus could help with a new place. Maybe even send Logan and Pauline on some fancy trip after the baby was born.

Turns out, that dream wasn't mine. It was their plan to kill me.

I looked at Logan. That face I used to think was charming? Now, all I saw was pure, cold-blooded cruelty.

And suddenly, everything clicked.

Of course he'd pursued me so hard once he found out I had no family.

He'd been planning this from the start.