Seven Months Pregnant, My Husband Left Me for His Boss—Then They Asked for One of My Babies. They Had No Idea What I Was Planning.
At seven months pregnant with twins, everything came crashing down.
I was folding baby clothes, dreaming up names, when I got a message from my husband’s boss, Veronica. I assumed something had happened to Eric at work—but the truth hit much harder.
The message contained a photo of Eric. Shirtless. In a bed I didn’t recognize. Smiling. The caption: “You deserve to know—he’s mine now.”
I felt the blood drain from my face as my babies kicked, as if sensing my shock. Eric had betrayed me—with his boss.
I called him over and over, but he didn’t answer. I sat on the couch, hand on my belly, whispering promises to my unborn children that no matter what, I’d protect them.
I had no idea how much worse it would get.
When Eric finally came home, he brought Veronica with him. She strolled in like she owned everything, dressed in luxury from head to toe.
Eric barely looked at me. “Lauren, I’m in love with Veronica. I’m leaving you. Let’s not turn this into drama.”
I couldn’t believe the words coming out of his mouth. “You’re leaving me? While I’m pregnant with your twins?”
He just shrugged. “Life happens.”
Then Veronica chimed in, arms crossed. “Since this is Eric’s apartment, you’ll need to be out by the end of the week.”
I was stunned. “I have nowhere to go. I’m carrying his children!”
Veronica tilted her head. “Twins, right? Or maybe more? You’re quite… large.” She smiled coolly. “I’ll rent you a house, pay for everything—but in return, I want one of the babies.”
My heart stopped. “What did you just say?”
She spoke casually, like it was no big deal. “I want a child—but without dealing with pregnancy. You can’t raise twins alone. I’ll take one. You’ll have security.”
Eric silently agreed, nodding along like this was perfectly logical.
I wanted to scream—but I stayed calm. “I’ll do it. But I have a condition.”
Veronica smirked. “What’s your condition?”
“I choose which baby you get. I’ll need time after they’re born to decide.”
They bought it. Veronica agreed, telling me not to take too long.
Then I added one more request: “You’re not renting me a house—you’re buying it. I want long-term security.”
Veronica hesitated, but agreed.
Inside, I was already steps ahead of them.
Over the next few months, Veronica bought me a beautiful home. She and Eric never noticed the papers put everything in my name. I played the part of the broken woman perfectly—letting her feel my belly, acting torn about the “decision,” all while planning everything.
When I went into labor, I told the nurses I didn’t want Eric or Veronica anywhere near the delivery room. I had two beautiful baby girls—healthy, perfect, mine.
Three days later, I called Veronica. “I’m ready to talk.”
She showed up within the hour, practically glowing. “So… which baby is mine?”
I held my daughters and said, calmly, “Neither.”
She blinked. “What?”
“I’m not giving you my child. Either of them.”
Eric tried to protest, and Veronica exploded. “Then get out! You’re done here!”
I smiled. “This house is in my name. You signed it over without reading the paperwork. You can’t kick me out.”
Their faces turned pale. Veronica screamed. Eric was stunned.
Then I delivered the final blow.
“I’ve already shared your messages. The photo. The ‘baby deal.’ I posted it all. I tagged your companies, your colleagues. Everyone.”
Veronica lunged for my phone, scrolling through the damage. It was too late. The story was out.
Eric lost his job. Veronica’s career and reputation were obliterated. Public backlash was swift and merciless.
And me? I rocked my daughters in our peaceful home, knowing I hadn’t just survived their betrayal—I’d taken back my power.
They thought they could break me. Instead, I broke them.
And I didn’t just get revenge—I got justice.