He Posted The Mistress Baby By Mistake

My husband, Lucas, posted a baby announcement on Instagram before I’d even gone into labor.

The caption read: Seven pounds, six ounces. Mother and son are doing great.

Relatives and friends immediately flooded my phone with congratulatory calls, but I just stared at the screen, utterly baffled.

It wasn’t until I zoomed in on the photo’s corner that I saw it: a woman’s hand, resting delicately near the baby, wearing a gleaming sapphire bracelet—the kind Lucas had sworn was too extravagant.

I was about to storm out and demand an explanation when our mutual friend’s comment popped up.

Dude, you forgot to switch accounts.

Lucas’s post vanished faster than a cheap magic trick.

No explanation. No apology. Not even a quick text to ask how I, his heavily pregnant wife, was doing.

I was strangely calm. There was no screaming, no hysterical phone call. I just endured the wrenching pain of the contractions alone and walked into the delivery room.

Two hours later, my daughter was born.

I mimicked Lucas’s original post, snapping a photo of her tiny hand clutching my finger, and posting it with the caption: Seven pounds, one ounce. Mother and daughter are doing great.

Immediately, Lucas’s calls started flashing across my screen.

But this time, I let the phone ring until it went silent.

1

Perhaps he was furious I hadn’t answered, because Lucas didn’t contact me for two full weeks.

Then, one afternoon in the recovery suite, just after I’d finished feeding my daughter, my phone buzzed again.

Savannah—Lucas’s so-called childhood friend—had posted five consecutive videos, a full showcase of parent-baby interaction. In every clip, Lucas was looking down at the infant in his arms, his eyes soft and entirely devoted.

They looked like the perfect, effortless family portrait I’d always dreamed of.

In that moment, a thousand tiny, sharp blades pierced my chest. I looked at my daughter’s pink, vulnerable face. My poor baby girl hadn’t even met her father.

My fingers twitched. I called Lucas.

He finally answered on the fifth try.

“The baby has a check-up tomorrow. Pick me up.”

I heard a small, impatient sigh. “The center has private transport. Why can’t you just ask them?”

Yes, the birthing center offered private transport—but only for the Deluxe Wing.

Lucas had been so convincing when he swore the premium suites were booked solid and only a standard room was available. I’d believed him, of course, and hadn’t pressed.

Then, just two days after I checked in, his Savannah, the ‘childhood friend,’ moved into the Deluxe Wing upstairs, immediately posting a high-profile thank you note that named Lucas specifically.

I was his wife, and I was the fool.

The words of protest died in my throat. What was the point of saying it? He wouldn’t hear me.

My silence only seemed to irritate him.

“Fine,” he snapped. “I’ll come back. What time?”

“Tomorrow.”

“Tomorrow! You nag constantly. You’re going to push away all our good luck. I swear, Harper, I’m going to divorce you!”

I don’t know when the word divorce had become his favorite threat. I remembered a time, when we were dating, that a simple cold look from me would send him scrambling to apologize.

He had changed. I had changed too.

I used to rage, to grab his collar and demand to know the truth. But now, I just felt bone-tired.

“Lucas, hurry! The baby just threw up all over me!” A woman’s light, breathy voice called out from his end.

Beep. Beep.

The call ended.

2

The day of the scheduled check-up, it rained heavily.

I called and messaged Lucas starting at nine a.m., but everything went into a black hole. He had lied to me, again.

I remembered how clumsy and heavy I’d felt when I was pregnant. I had once fallen and started bleeding on my own, alone on the way to a prenatal appointment. The nurse helped me call him. He’d promised to rush over, but he only arrived three days later. He had the nerve to blame me for being overly dramatic and wasting his time.

Since then, I’d stopped calling him as often. We were the closest of spouses, yet we’d slowly become strangers.

After the rain stopped, I still couldn’t reach him. I took a cab to the clinic. The doctor said the baby was thriving, but recommended I get checked out; my own pallor concerned her. I thought of the subtle ache in my abdomen before delivery, an ache that was becoming more pronounced now.

I looked at my daughter, peacefully sucking her thumb in her stroller. I’ll come back next month, I thought.

As I exited the elevator, I walked directly into Lucas and Savannah.

Savannah was wrapped in Lucas’s arms in a theatrical, princess-carry position.

“Harper, is that you? You look… different. Pregnancy certainly changes a woman, doesn’t it?” Savannah’s eyes darted past me, and I could feel her smug challenge.

I was long past caring about her petty jabs. I’d worried about her too many times; now I was simply indifferent.

I pushed the stroller forward, my tone flat. “I brought the baby for a check-up. I won’t interrupt you two. I’m leaving.”

“Wait, Harper, don’t misunderstand!” Savannah struggled gently in Lucas’s arms. “I broke my ankle in the shower yesterday, and Lucas stayed up all night with me! You know we’ve been like family since kindergarten, and I’m a single woman, Harper. Who else is he supposed to call? If this upsets you, I won’t ask him again.”

Lucas patted her rear end, his voice a soft, low register of resigned affection. “You’re a mother yourself, Sav, stop being so dramatic!”

Then his gaze hardened on me, his voice sharp with blame. “Harper, you need to lighten up. Savannah broke her ankle. She’s fragile. She has no one here to help. Can you at least speak to her without that passive-aggressive tone?”

I looked at Lucas and let out a short, hollow laugh. “I’m basically a widow, Lucas. Should I go find a man to take care of me too?”

His pupils visibly contracted.

I turned and pushed the stroller away.

That evening, Lucas returned, his face set in a cold mask.

“I just saw your calls, Harper. Standing you up was wrong. I apologize.”

He sighed, his tone instantly shifting to annoyance. “But you are being ridiculous. You have the center’s car—why do you insist on using mine?”

At the mention of the car, I looked up from folding the baby’s blankets. “The center’s car is for the Deluxe Wing, Lucas. I was in the standard room.”

The room fell silent. Lucas, realizing he had no ground to stand on, pulled a small, palm-sized box from his pocket and placed it on the table.

“The room was my mistake. Let’s drop it.” He slid the box toward me. “I brought you a gift. An apology. Go on, open it.”

I opened the box. Inside was a pair of dull, barely-jade earrings. They looked like something you’d find in a dusty rack at a drug store. They were a pathetic contrast to the sapphire bracelet he’d bought Savannah for her birthday just two months ago.

In Lucas’s mind, Savannah deserved the stars, and I was only worthy of the dirt he casually tossed my way.

I closed the box and pushed it back.

Lucas frowned. “You don’t like it?”

I nodded, meeting his eyes. “No. It’s cheap, and I’m not interested.”

I used to be a different woman. I’d worried about his earnings and happily accepted any small token he offered. I’d even pretended a bag of fruit he bought on the street was a grand gesture. But that was before I knew he was lavishing jewelry on another woman while being utterly stingy with me. In five years of marriage, I didn’t own a single piece of real jewelry from him.

Seeing my rejection, Lucas grabbed the small box and hurled it against the wall. The fragile case shattered, spraying the cheap jade onto the rug.

“I work my ass off to support you! And you walk around giving me that face every damn day! Am I supposed to kiss your feet? You’re a curse, Harper!” Lucas pointed at me, his face twisted in a snarl. “Since you want to be so dramatic, fine. I’m done. I’m not coming back. You can live alone.”

I watched him put on his jacket and walk toward the door. Just as his hand reached the knob, I spoke.

“Lucas.”

He stopped abruptly. He turned back, the rage instantly replaced by a look of forced calm.

“See? Why make a scene? You didn’t like the gift, right? Fine, I’ll take you shopping. We’ll buy something better.”

He strode back into the room. “Now, go make some dinner. And pack a portion for Savannah. She said she was craving your lentil soup.”

He was talking, rambling on, not listening to a word. I waited until he ran out of breath.

“Lucas,” I said softly. “When you said you were going to divorce me earlier, were you serious?”

He froze, then let out a cold laugh. He tossed his jacket onto the sofa. “What are you saying, Harper? You want to divorce me?”

“You’re still upset about Savannah taking the Deluxe Wing, aren’t you?” he went on, not waiting for an answer. “I promised her that suite. I’m not going back on my word for you. If you can handle it, then stay. If you can’t, then we’re getting divorced!”

3

I was about to agree, but Lucas spun around and walked out, slamming his foot against a single armchair near the door. The loud thud woke my daughter.

I rushed back to the nursery.

I was determined to get divorced, but every time I contacted Lucas to discuss the arrangements, he was unreachable.

I finally saw him on the day I moved out of the recovery suite.

He was helping Savannah move her things. Two nannies followed him, pulling 26-inch suitcases. Savannah was sitting in the back seat of a luxury SUV, shielded from the sun. I, meanwhile, was sweating, struggling to push and pull my own meager belongings. The contrast was stark.

Yet, I felt nothing. Perhaps the certainty of divorce had given me a strange sense of euphoria.

Savannah waved. “Harper! Going home today too?”

“Why don’t we just give you a ride? You don’t have much stuff, you won’t take up any space.” She sighed dramatically. “It’s all Lucas’s fault. I was only here for thirty days, but he bought me a year’s worth of clothes. Now I’m exhausted from packing.”

She spoke with a false tone of complaint, her eyes sparkling with pride and display. I ignored her. The dull ache in my abdomen returned. I fought through the sharp stab and loaded my bags into the taxi trunk with the driver’s help.

Before getting into the cab, I looked at Lucas, who hadn’t spoken a word.

“Be home tonight. I need to talk to you.”

Ten minutes later, Savannah’s new post popped up on my feed. It was a photo of a property deed.

The caption was bold and exaggerated: A Childhood Sweetheart trumps a Husband. With my Lucas, I’ll always have a place to call home. #NewBeginnings #BFFs

I stared at the bright red deed for a long time. The feeling in my stomach was not bitterness, but a deep, cold irony.

Lucas and I had met in college. Everyone said we were meant to be. Later, I’d chosen to move to the city to help him start his business. We could only afford a damp, cramped basement apartment. I got terribly sick in that awful environment, running a high fever. Lucas, that big, tough man, had knelt beside the bed and cried.

He’d sworn that every house we ever bought, every deed, would have my name on it.

Men’s promises, apparently, were just smoke.

I screenshotted Savannah’s post and sent it to my lawyer, asking if I could use it to claim the house.

That night, Lucas didn’t come home. I didn’t care.

My daughter cried for three hours because of the change in environment. The pain in my abdomen started up again. I crouched down by her crib until the pain subsided.

The next morning, I asked my elderly neighbor, Mrs. Davis, to watch the baby and went to the hospital alone.

The doctor’s expression was serious. “Ms. Vance, you have a tumor on your abdomen. We don’t know if it’s benign or malignant yet, but given the time you’ve been experiencing pain, it’s growing rapidly. I recommend scheduling surgery as soon as possible.”

I left the hospital and sat on a bench, my trembling hands clutching the medical report. As my fingers gradually steadied, I looked down at the diagnosis.

I made a decision. I was about to text the doctor when a voice called my name.

I looked up. It was Tess, the wife of one of Lucas’s business partners.

“Harper! What are you doing out here? It’s freezing! Come up, Lucas and the guys are having a get-together upstairs.” She was loud and warm, pulling me up with a force that allowed no refusal.

4

I decided not to resist. This was as good a time as any to discuss the divorce.

The private room was loud, full of excited shouts and laughter.

The moment I pushed the door open, I saw Lucas and Savannah interlocking arms, drinking a shot of whiskey. A dozen people cheered them on.

“That’s too easy!” someone yelled. “Lucas, hold Savannah and do a kiss-and-shot!”

Savannah blushed, and Lucas made a show of playfully resisting.

I watched, an icy detachment settling over me.

Then Savannah saw me standing in the doorway and feigned surprise. “Oh, Harper! Did you come to spy on us? Seriously, you have to give a man some space. Who could live like that?”

Lucas frowned, his voice cold. “What are you doing here?”

I stopped the person next to me who was trying to explain on my behalf. My gaze lingered on Lucas and Savannah, and a slow smile spread across my face.

“If I hadn’t come, Lucas, how would I have known the kind of games you two play behind my back?”

“Harper, are you insane?!” Lucas roared.

Savannah defiantly lifted her chin, ensuring I saw the dazzling, purple-hued bracelet on her wrist. I knew instantly it was Lucas’s latest gift.

Someone in the room shouted, “Finish the shot!”

Savannah quickly poured two more, handed one to Lucas, and held the other. She looked at me.

“You’re not jealous, are you, Harper? It’s just friends having fun.”

My expression was calm. I spoke only to Lucas. “If you drink that, we are done. There is no going back.”

Lucas’s response was to immediately scoop Savannah into his arms.

“Don’t embarrass yourself, Harper. It’s a shot. Who are you threatening?”

Then, they both intertwined arms and drank.

The room erupted in applause. “That’s our Lucas!” “A real man!”

I watched their intimate posture, their intertwined hands, and the last fragments of my heart turned to stone. The long-suppressed rage welled up, too violent to contain.

I grabbed the heavy ceramic teapot filled with scalding hot Earl Grey and hurled it at them.

“Agh!”

Both screamed.

Savannah, her face distorted in a grimace of pain and fury, lunged and pushed me hard. “You psycho!”

My abdomen slammed into the corner of the table. A fire erupted where the tumor was. The agonizing pain stole my breath.

Before I could get up, Lucas grabbed a handful of my hair and dragged me across the floor until I was kneeling in front of Savannah.