Seven Months Pregnant, I Joined a Pottery Party. I Didn’t Know I Was Walking Into a Nightmare.

I’m pregnant with my second baby, and everyone warned me this time would be more emotional.
They were right.

But the hormones didn’t come from my unborn child.

They came from my husband.

All I wanted lately was the couch and whatever snack the baby demanded. My best friend Ava refused to let me hide. She dragged me to a pottery night, promising distraction and decorations for the nursery.

The studio was loud, warm, full of women trading birth stories.

Then one woman mentioned her boyfriend rushing off on the Fourth of July because his sister-in-law, Olivia, was in labor.

My daughter Tess was born on July 4th.
I’m Olivia.

Ava and I froze.

The woman kept going. Months later, when she gave birth, Malcolm couldn’t be there. He was babysitting his niece, Tess.

My hands shook as I showed her my phone — a picture of my husband, my child, my growing belly.

Her face drained.
“That’s your husband?”

Then she broke me.

“He’s my son’s father too.”

That night Malcolm confessed. Affair. Baby. Lies he’d been “handling.”

By morning, my marriage was over.

I’m heartbroken. I’m terrified. I’m due in five weeks.

But I won’t raise my children inside a life built on deception.

It’s not the future I planned.

It will be honest.

And that has to be enough.