Pregnant wife receives a call from a cop: “your husband is in the hospital. We found him with a woman.” When she arrived, the doctor said: “madam, what you are about to see may shock you.” He opened the curtain—she fell to her knees at the sight. The doctor whispered: “there is something else you need to know.”

“Ma’am? Ma’am, are you okay?”

Firm hands gripped my arms, hoisting me up. I was guided to a plastic chair, but my body felt hollow, like a shell. The weight in my belly no longer felt like my son; it felt like the burden of a betrayal I was just beginning to understand.

Jessica Ramirez.

The name was a poison spreading through my veins. Every memory reconfigured itself under a sickly light. The “accidental” meetings in the elevator. The way she always asked about Michael’s schedule. “He works so hard, poor guy. You need to take care of him, Laura.”

It wasn’t solidarity. It was reconnaissance.

And the barbecue two months ago… I remembered sitting on the rooftop, exhausted from the pregnancy, while Jessica sat next to me. She had placed her hand on my stomach.

“Can I feel?” she had asked. “It’s such a magical connection, isn’t it? Nothing can break that.”

I felt bile rise in my throat. It wasn’t just an affair. It was a performance. She wanted a front-row seat to the life she was dismantling.

“Mrs. Thompson?”

A young doctor with wire-rimmed glasses stood before me. “Dr. Patel. Your husband is out of danger. He’s lucky.”

Lucky. The word tasted like ash. Lucky to be alive to face the wreckage he caused.

“Can I see him?” My voice was unrecognizable—flat, dead.

“He’s sedated for pain management right now,” Dr. Patel said, hesitating. “And the other patient is in the same observation room. Perhaps it’s better to wait…”

“No,” I said, standing up. The dizziness was gone, replaced by a cold, sharp clarity. “I want to see him now.”

He led me to a room separated from the hallway by a green curtain. He pulled it back.

The scene revealed itself like a tableau of guilt.

Two beds, side by side. On the right, Michael. His arm was splinted, his face scratched, sleeping the sleep of the medicated. Even unconscious, he looked weak.

On the left, less than six feet away, was Jessica.

She had a bandage near her hairline. She was staring at the ceiling, lost in her own world, until she heard us enter. She turned her head slowly.

Her eyes met mine.

The recognition was instant. Panic contorted her features, stripping away the yoga-teacher serenity I knew so well. Her mouth opened, but no sound came out. She looked like a fish gasping on a dock.

There was no remorse in her eyes. Only the terror of a predator caught in a trap.

I didn’t scream. I didn’t cry. I walked into the room, my steps heavy and deliberate. I stopped at the foot of Michael’s bed, but I didn’t look at him. My gaze was fixed on her.

“He wasn’t alone,” I said.

My voice was low, but it resonated in the sterile silence. I repeated the officer’s words, throwing them back at her.

Jessica flinched as if I had slapped her. She pulled the sheet up, trying to hide.

“Laura, I…” she whispered, her voice broken.

“No!” I cut her off. “Don’t you dare say my name.”

The only sound was the rhythmic beep-beep-beep of Michael’s heart monitor. A mechanical metronome counting down the seconds of my old life.

I looked at my husband. The face I kissed every morning now looked like a stranger’s mask. I reached out, my hand hovering inches from his cheek, then pulled back. I had lost the right to touch him. Or rather, he had lost the privilege of my touch.

I stepped back. My back ached. The baby kicked—a hard, angry thump against my ribs. I placed a hand on my belly. Just us now, I thought.

I turned to leave, but stopped at the door. There was one more piece on the board.

I took out my phone. My hands trembled, but my resolve was steel. I searched for a contact I had only used once.

David Ramirez. Jessica’s husband.

The quiet civil engineer. The man who always stood in her shadow. The honest man who was about to have his world detonated.

I hesitated. Was I really going to destroy another human being?

I looked back at the two beds. Side by side. Intimate. Shared fate.

The truth needed to be complete.

I walked down the hall to a quiet corner and dialed. It rang three times.

“Hello?”

David’s voice was tired, unsuspecting.

“David,” I said, keeping my voice clinical. “This is Laura from 1102.”

“Laura? Is everything okay? Is it the baby?”

The genuine concern in his voice twisted the knife in my heart.

“You need to come to Mercy General,” I said. “Now. It’s about Jessica.”

The silence on the other end was deafening. He didn’t ask what happened. He didn’t ask if she was hurt.

“I’m on my way,” he said. His voice had turned to stone.

He knew. Somewhere deep down, he knew.

I sat back down in the plastic chair to wait. I was the messenger of the apocalypse, and the show wasn’t over yet.