After five years of trying for a baby, I finally saw two pink lines. But after so many heartbreaks, I didn’t tell Ronald—I needed confirmation first. At my ultrasound, the doctor pointed to the tiny heartbeat. It was real. I was pregnant.

But as I walked out, my joy turned to ice.

Down the hall, I saw him. Ronald. Hugging a pregnant woman, his hands resting on her belly. It wasn’t just a casual hug—they looked…intimate.

I ducked behind a vending machine, my pulse pounding. Who was she? What the hell was he doing here? I had to know.

So, gripping my purse and swallowing the bile rising in my throat, I did something I never thought I’d do.

I called to order an Uber as I followed them down the hall. I was determined to find out where they were going.

In the parking lot, Ronald helped the woman into his car with such gentleness. My Uber arrived, I slipped into the backseat.

“Follow that blue sedan,” I told the driver. “Please.”

The driver nodded, and we set off.

Ronald pulled into the driveway of a small, unfamiliar house.

“Stop here,” I told the driver. “I can walk from this point.”

I watched Ronald help the woman out of the car. The gesture was so intimate, so familiar, it made my chest ache.

Taking a deep breath, I marched up the driveway.

The door swung open, and there stood Ronald, his face draining of color.

“Carol?” His voice cracked. “What are you doing here?”

“I think that’s my line,” I said, pushing past him into the house.

The pregnant woman stood in the living room. She was young, maybe early twenties, with clear skin and bright eyes that widened when she saw me.

“I just came from my ultrasound appointment,” I announced. “You know, because I’m pregnant, too.”

Ronald’s mouth opened and closed like a fish out of water. The young woman did something completely unexpected.

She laughed. “You’re Carol!?”

She crossed the room and pulled me into a hug. I stood there, stiff, my mind unable to compute this reaction.

“What on earth are you doing?” I demanded.