Pregnancy should have been a joyful time. Instead, it was the loneliest chapter of my life. My husband Arnie, once loving and attentive, turned cold the moment I began to show. He mocked my appearance, ignored my pain, and came home reeking of perfume. His words cut deep—calling me lazy, unattractive, and a burden. I was eight months pregnant when he brought another woman home—Stacy—and handed me divorce papers. He sneered, said he didn’t want me or the baby,

and mocked how I looked. But what he didn’t know was that I already had a plan in motion. I signed the papers… and waited. You see, Stacy wasn’t just any woman. I had hired her. I was done being hurt, and I needed to protect myself and my unborn daughter. Arnie, arrogant and oblivious, fell for Stacy easily. And while he chased his fantasy,

he also signed over the house and finances without a second glance. When my daughter Riley was born, I felt more empowered than ever. Stacy eventually came clean—mission accomplished. I moved back into the house with my baby, ready for a new start. One day, Arnie showed up,

begging Stacy to come back. When he saw me, he lost it. I told him the truth: Stacy was part of my plan. He had destroyed himself—I only gave him the rope. “Come back to me,” he pleaded. “No,” I said. “You’re the one no one wants now.” I shut the door, held Riley close, and smiled. I had lost a husband, but gained everything that truly mattered.