My wife and I had just left the doctor’s office, thrilled after hearing our baby’s heartbeat for the first time. We were on top of the world, filled with joy and hope for the future. That moment of happiness, however, was brutally cut short.
As we approached my car, we stopped in our tracks. Someone had scrawled “Hope She Was Worth It” across the driver’s side door in large, angry letters. My heart dropped. I turned to Natalie, stunned. “I swear, I’ve never cheated,” I told her, desperate for her to believe me.
She didn’t scream or accuse—but the silence said enough. Shaking, she said, “I didn’t write it. So who did?” Then she called her mom and left in tears, leaving me alone, confused and heartbroken, staring at the vandalized car.
Later that evening, as I was scrubbing the words off in the fading light, I heard footsteps behind me. Then a voice, cold and familiar: “Don’t bother thanking me. You’re welcome.” I turned—and froze.
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