During Christmas dinner, my mother-in-law hinted for the umpteenth time that she wanted a grandchild. However, my husband, Zachary Cole, who had insisted on staying child-free in the past decade, only smiled and filled her plate.

After dinner, he slipped onto the balcony. "There, there. Daddy will come see you on New Year's Day," he whispered.

I stood in the corner of the living room with a glass of water in my hand, feeling cold as the words sank in. I stepped forward and forced a playful tone. "I just heard you say 'Daddy.' Got a secret kid stashed somewhere?"

He rubbed his nose, his voice stiff. "You must've misheard. That's… just a friend's kid."

My heart sank. I'd been married to him for a decade, so I knew exactly what he looked like when he was lying.

The Child He Already Had

I noticed something amiss. So, I played along with my husband's story and casually asked, "Really? You were smiling awfully tender just now."

Zachary Cole's gaze skittered away, refusing to meet mine. "The kid's got a sweet mouth. He kept calling me 'mister.' It's late. Get some sleep."

He turned and walked into the bathroom before I could get a word in edgewise.

After 10 years of marriage, I could read him like an open book. That moment of hesitation told me everything I needed to know. He was hiding something.

By the time the bathroom door swung open, I was already lying in bed pretending to be asleep. Zachary slipped under the covers and wrapped his arms around me from behind like he always did. However, I couldn't help but feel as though his embrace felt like a stranger's.

Once his breathing finally evened, I eased out of bed and picked up his phone on the nightstand.

We'd been married for a decade. Yet, this was the first time I had ever looked through his phone. How ironic.

I went straight to his WhatsApp. The chat list was spotless with my name pinned at the top. The family group came next, and then his work contacts. Still, I checked his other apps just to be safe. And there it was, an icon I didn't recognize: Baby Steps.

I tapped it, and it asked for a password.

I tried his birthday, my birthday, our anniversary—nothing.

I had a sudden inspiration and typed the New Year's date: 0101.

The page loaded, and my breath caught in my throat.

It was a parenting album.

The first photo was a four- or five-year-old boy holding a sign that said Happy New Year, his eyes curved in a bright smile. He was hugging a box of LEGO. The caption read, 'Daddy's New Year's gift—baby's over the moon.'

I scrolled up.

October: 'Fifth birthday—Daddy took us to the beach as promised.'

August: 'First parent-teacher conference—Daddy looked so handsome in a suit.'

May: 'Baby got sick—Daddy stayed up with him all night…'

The earliest photo dated back five years. It was a close-up of a newborn's tiny feet, captioned, 'Our little prince is here. Six pounds, eight ounces. Daddy cried.'

So, it wasn't that he didn't want to be a dad because he already was one.

And to think I believed his bullshit, his claims that a life with just the two of us was enough for him. What did that make me?

I put the phone back where it was and lay down again.

I stayed awake until dawn with my eyes open. When morning came, I acted as if nothing had happened. I got up, washed up, and got dressed. I made sure to behave as though it were any other morning. Only after he left the house did I grab my keys and follow him.

After several twists and turns, he entered a residential neighborhood. I took a deep breath and was just about to ring the bell when I heard a child's laughter from inside.

A moment later, a woman's gentle voice followed. "Baby, stop messing around and put away the New Year's gift your daddy gave you."

My blood turned to ice.

'Daddy?'

My hand hung in midair, unable to press the doorbell.

Soon, another voice came from inside. It was one I knew better than my own heartbeat. Zachary's. He sounded warm and indulgent.

"Alright, I promise that we'll go to the theme park next week."

My back sank against the cold wall as I slid down to the floor. My phone slipped from my palm and hit the ground, the screen cracking—just like something inside me.

I drew a long breath and pressed the doorbell.

The door opened, and a little boy poked his head out. He had round cheeks as his eyes sparkled in curiosity. It was the same kid from the photos. He glanced at me and yelled, "Mommy, someone's here!"

A moment later, the last person I thought I'd see stepped into view—Yara Silvers, my college roommate.

She stopped when she saw me. "Estelle? What a coincidence. How did you know I lived here?"

"Tell Zachary to come out," I said evenly. The audacity of her to act as though she had no idea what was going on.

Silence suffocated the living room behind her.

Yara frowned and blocked the doorway. "Zachary? Why would he be here? You've got the wrong place."

She paused, lowering her voice into a warning. "We have a child present. No need to make a scene."

Just then, someone finally appeared from the shadows of the living room.

"Ellie… please let me explain…" Zachary's voice trembled as he walked toward me.

Nevertheless, his behavior… the look he was giving me as though he was the victim of our broken marriage made me sick to the core.

No More Mercy

"We'll talk at home," I said icily.

The moment we stepped inside, Zachary dropped to his knees with a heavy thud. His voice shook. "Ellie, please… let me explain…"

I cut him off, sounding so calm it startled even me, "Explain what? Explain that the child isn't yours?"

He grabbed my hand, tears spilling down his cheeks. "I messed up, Ellie… I'm sorry… It was Yara—she set me up! I was drunk… I didn't even know what happened! When she told me she was pregnant, I told her to give it up, but she threatened to kill herself.

"She promised she'd never bother us if she got to keep the baby…"

"And after the child was born?" I asked.

"I was forced!" Zachary suddenly raised his voice. "My mom pushed me to accept her! She said my family line couldn't end with me! And you refused to have a baby, no matter what—what was I supposed to do?!"

The words hit me like a blade, sliding straight into my chest.

I stared at him, watching him shove every ounce of responsibility onto anyone but himself.

I said slowly, "You told me you hated kids. You said that staying child-free was your dream life… Was that all a lie? You just wanted to keep me complacent while you left your legacy somewhere else?"

Zachary froze, realizing he had accidentally revealed too much. He softened his voice again. "Ellie, that's not it… I didn't have a choice… Please believe me. You're the only one I love. Always have, always will."

I didn't want to hear another word out of his lying trap.

The slam of the door silenced whatever he might have shouted after me.

I sat in my car and started the engine. It wasn't until I'd been driving for a long time that I noticed my cheeks were wet.

I found the number I had saved but never dialed. "Mr. Lambert, it's me—Estelle Shepherd. I want Zachary to end up with nothing."

A calm, professional voice came through the phone. "Understood, Ms. Shepherd."

…

The next day, I went to work as usual. The moment I sat at my desk, a sudden wave of shouting and crying erupted outside the office area.

As a sense of dread rose climbed up my spine, someone barged in—Yara. She was dragging her boy behind her, her eyes puffy from all the crying. She looked nothing like the woman from the day before.

When she spotted me, she rushed toward my desk. Her tears were already rolling down her cheeks before she even spoke. "Estelle! You owe me an explanation!"

Every pair of eyes in the office snapped toward us.

"I'm pregnant with Zachary's second child. Are you trying to drive my children and me into a dead end?"

Her son, frightened by her hysteria, burst into loud sobs.

My coworkers gasped and whispered to one another, shock spreading through the room.

Then, Yara dropped to her knees right in front of me, just as Zachary had done yesterday, and grabbed my sleeve with both hands. "Please, Estelle… for the sake of the baby I'm carrying… spare me!"

Her cries echoed through the entire floor. Those who knew nothing of the truth began whispering even louder.

"I didn't think Estelle's this kind of woman…"

"So heartless. That woman's even begging on her knees now."

"She always seemed so respectable… Who knew…"

My hands shook with rage as the blood in my body turned to ice. "Yara, let go of me and get out of my company! Your performance will go nowhere here!"

I pulled out my phone and called Zachary on speaker. "Yara is making a scene at my company. Get over here right now and deal with her."

…

He rushed in about 10 minutes later, panting. I could see sweat beading across his forehead. The moment Yara saw him, her cries grew even more miserable. "Zachary… Honey, it hurts… the baby… our baby…"

Zachary reacted instantly, dashing toward her and comforting her in a soothing tone. "Don't get worked up. Don't scare yourself. Be careful—think of our child…"

The gentle and protective way he fussed over her was something I hadn't seen once in the decade of marriage.

My coworkers' expressions shifted from confusion to absolute disgust. Condemnation washed over me in wave after wave. I was nailed to the pillar of shame—scorned, judged, treated like filth.

My flinty gaze locked onto Zachary. "Zachary, keep in mind that I will remember every second of this circus you two put on today. You're the one pushing everything past the point of no return. So, don't you dare blame me for what comes next."

With that, I stood tall and walked out of the office without looking back.

Just then, my phone buzzed. It was a text from my mother-in-law. 'Now that you know everything, let's all sit down and talk tomorrow at 3 p.m. at The Marrow.'

I tightened my grip on the phone, the screen's glow reflecting in my eyes. I, Estelle Shepherd, was no one's doormat.

Putting Everything on the Table

I was the first to arrive.

The door opened at 2:58 p.m. Zachary's mother walked, carrying the child in her arms, smiling ear to ear. "Bubba, look what I got you—"

Her words stopped short as she saw me. Her expression froze for half a second before she forced out a smile. "Ellie, you're early."

Zachary followed behind her. I could see dark circles under his eyes. It was obvious that he hadn't slept all night. He avoided looking at me and quietly pulled out a chair.

The last to enter was Yara. She matter-of-factly perched herself next to Zachary, which was incidentally the seat that used to be mine.

My mother-in-law placed the little boy in the empty chair between them. And just like that, the four of them sat together, while I sat alone at the opposite end of the long table. We were like two opposing camps.

A server came in to pour us water. I slid the tablet menu toward the child. "Let's order. What do you like?"

The boy, who had been sneaking glances at me, whispered, "Shrimp."

"We'll get a sharing plate of shrimp scampi then." I checked it off on the tablet. "And lemon steamed halibut, honey-glazed pork ribs… Yara, you're pregnant. Do you need to avoid anything?"

Silence swept across the table. My mother-in-law set her glass down with a sharp clatter.

"No." Yara stroked her belly and looked at Zachary with soft, tender eyes. "Zachary said he wants this baby to have a complete family."

"That's bullsh*t!" He shot to his feet.

"Bullsh*t?" She looked up at him, eyes reddening instantly. "Didn't you tell me last night that we'd get married once Estelle agreed to the divorce?"

His mother hurried to smooth things over. "Alright, alright, let's eat first—"

I interrupted softly, "Since the topic's already out, let's put everything on the table."

With that, I opened my laptop and connected it to the room's projector. The screen lit up—page one was a summary of bank transfers.

"Over the past eight years, Zachary transferred a total of 768 thousand to you, marked as living expenses. Two years ago, he transferred another 500 thousand and marked it down as housing funds.

"In addition, he transferred 20 thousand for international preschool tuition, 12 thousand for extracurricular tutoring, around 15 thousand for overseas trips, and about 30 thousand in luxury purchases…"

I flipped page after page—every number clear, every date precise. "All of this came from our marital assets."

Yara's face turned pale with every transaction I spoke. Still, she recovered quickly, letting out a sneer. "Estelle, what's your point? These were voluntary payments. Zachary gave them to me as child support!"

I looked at Zachary. "Were they voluntary?"

Zachary opened his mouth, but his mother cut in before he could speak. "Of course they were! My grandson deserves every penny!"

"If they were his rightful expenses, the money should've come from Zachary's personal account—not ours," I argued, then switched to the next page, displaying the relevant provisions of state law.

"During a marriage, if one spouse gives away shared marital property without the other's consent, the other spouse has the right to demand full reimbursement."

Yara shot to her feet. "Estelle! Don't push your luck! I have a child with Zachary!"

"As for the child…" I glanced at the boy. A brief ache flickered through me before I steeled myself. "He can receive child support—but only a reasonable amount. Besides…"

My gaze landed on Yara. "The home you live in was paid for with my money."

Silence crashed over the private room again.

She glared daggers at me. "Estelle, do you hate me so much that you'd steal my son's home?"