When I was eight months pregnant, I learned that the man I had promised my life to — the man who had sworn to protect and love me — had betrayed me in the cruelest way possible. I found out that my husband was cheating.

It started with subtle clues. He was spending more time “working late,” scrolling through his phone with a smirk he thought I didn’t notice, and guarding his messages as if they contained state secrets. I brushed it off at first. I was tired, swollen, and trying to prepare for the arrival of our baby. My mind refused to accept that something so ugly could be happening while I was carrying our child.

But one night, as I sat on the couch folding tiny baby clothes, I heard his phone buzz. He was in the shower. I picked it up instinctively. What I saw shattered me.

Messages — dozens of them. Words of affection. Promises. Plans. Photos.

The man who had once kissed my pregnant belly and told me I was beautiful was living another life behind my back.

I confronted him that night. My voice shook, but I needed the truth.

At first, he denied it. Then, when I showed him the messages, he shrugged and said, “You’re overreacting. It doesn’t mean anything.”

I remember staring at him in disbelief. My hands trembled, my chest tightened, and all I could think was, How can you do this to me now?