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When I was seven months pregnant, my entire world collapsed. That was the day I discovered my husband was cheating on me. The betrayal hit me like a physical blow — sharp, breath-stealing, and devastating.
“You should stay with your husband for the sake of your baby,” he said. “I also cheated on your mom when she was pregnant. It’s just male physiology, it doesn’t mean anything.”
I froze.

But after the initial disbelief faded, I found myself thinking about my baby, about the stress my body was already under, about how fragile everything felt. In the end, I decided to stay. Not because I forgave my husband — I didn’t.
I simply didn’t have the strength to battle both heartbreak and pregnancy at the same time. I told myself I would focus on my child first and decide the rest later. Months passed, and I gave birth to a healthy baby boy.
Your husband is the most disgusting person on Earth to me. I want you to divorce him right now. We’ll help you with the baby.”

He let out a long, tired sigh. “I never cheated on your mom. I lied because I didn’t want you to go through all that stress while you were pregnant.
I just wanted you and the baby to be safe. Now that you’re both fine, we can deal with your husband properly.”
Note: This story is a work of fiction inspired by real events. Names, characters, and details have been altered. Any resemblance is coincidental.
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