I stared at the attached video file, my cursor hovering over it. Taking a deep breath, I clicked play.
The grainy security footage showed Joseph’s office on a Sunday.
My brow furrowed. He never worked weekends.
Then I saw him walk in, but he wasn’t alone. Two small children, a boy and a girl, clung to his hands.
“Daddy, can we play hide and seek?” the little girl’s voice rang out.
Joseph’s laughter filled the room. “Of course, sweetheart. Let’s see who can hide from Daddy the best!”
I felt the blood drain from my face.
DADDY??
Joseph and I didn’t have any kids. And these weren’t just random kids. They were HIS.
The video continued, showing Joseph playing with the children, helping them with coloring books, and sharing snacks. It was a side of him I’d never seen… tender, paternal, completely at ease.
“Daddy, when can we go to the beach house?” the little boy asked, his voice full of excitement.
Joseph ruffled his hair. “Soon, buddy. I promise it’ll be the best surprise ever.”
My heart shattered into a million pieces. Beach house? What beach house?
The video ended, and I sat in stunned silence. My phone buzzed, jolting me back to reality. It was a text from Joseph.
“Hey sugar, running late at the gym. Don’t wait up! 😘”
I threw my phone across the room, hot tears streaming down my face. “You lying pervert!” I sobbed.
The next morning, I woke up with puffy eyes and a pounding headache. Joseph had already left for work, leaving a note on the kitchen counter:
“Sorry, I missed you this morning. Hope you have a great day! Love you! Mwaaaah! ;)”
I crumpled the note in my fist. How could he act so normal? How long had he been living this double life?
I called my best friend, Lisa. “Can you come over? I need you,” I choked out.
Twenty minutes later, Lisa was at my door. “Bridget, what happened? You look terrible!”
I pulled her inside and spilled everything. Lisa listened, her eyes widening with each word.
“That lying, cheating jerk!” she exclaimed. “What are you going to do?”
I shook my head, feeling lost. “I don’t know. I can’t even think straight.”
Lisa grabbed my shoulders. “Listen to me, Bridget. You need to be smart about this. Don’t confront him yet. We need a plan.”
“A plan?” I laughed bitterly. “Lisa, my entire life is a lie. What kind of plan could possibly fix this?”
“Not to fix it, Bridge. To make him pay.”
I nodded, suddenly seeing things in a new light.
Over the next few days, I played the role of the unsuspecting wife perfectly. But every “I love you” from Joseph felt like a knife twisting in my gut.
One evening, as we sat down for dinner, I plastered on a smile. “Hey, I was thinking we could go to Antonio’s on Friday. You know, that new Italian place?”
Joseph’s eyes lit up. “That sounds great! I’ve been wanting to try it.”
“Perfect! I’ll make the reservations.”
As soon as Joseph left for work the next day, I sprang into action. I hired a private investigator and gave him all the information I had.
Within 48 hours, I had a name: Miranda. Joseph’s other woman. The mother of his children.
I stared at her picture on my laptop screen. She was beautiful, with long red hair and a warm smile. The kids looked just like her. Just like Joseph.
“Oh, Joseph,” I whispered, tears streaming down my face. “Why wasn’t I enough?”
And soon, Friday night arrived. Joseph looked handsome in his casuals, completely oblivious to what was coming.
“You look beautiful,” he said, kissing my cheek. I forced myself not to flinch.
“Thanks! Shall we go?”
As we walked into Antonio’s, I scanned the room. There she was — Miranda, sitting at a table with her two kids.
Joseph froze when he saw her. “Go on, darling! Don’t you want to meet… her?” I cooed.
“What… what’s going on?” he stammered.
I grabbed his arm, my nails digging into his skin. “Why don’t we join your other family for dinner, dear?”
Miranda’s eyes widened as we approached. “Joseph? What’s happening?”
I smiled coldly. “Hello, Miranda. I’m Bridget, Joseph’s wife. It’s so nice to finally meet you.”
The color drained from Joseph’s face. “Bridget, I can explain—”
“Save it,” I snapped, turning to Miranda. “Did you know about me, girl?”
Miranda shook her head, tears welling in her eyes. “No, I… I had no idea.”
I nodded, a strange calm settling over me. “Well, now we both know the truth.”
The next hour was a blur of accusations, tears, and broken dreams. Joseph tried to explain, to apologize, but his words fell on deaf ears.
“How could you do this to us?” Miranda sobbed. “To our children?”
Joseph reached for her hand, then mine. We both recoiled. “I never meant for this to happen,” he pleaded. “I love you both. I love all of you.”
I laughed. “Love? You call this love? You’ve been lying to us for years!”
“How long?” Miranda demanded. “How long have you been married to her?”
Joseph’s shoulders slumped. “Twelve years.”
Miranda gasped. “But… but we’ve been together for seven years. Our kids…”
“Are six and four,” I finished for her. “Quite a juggling act you’ve been doing, Joseph.”
I stood up, my chair scraping loudly against the floor. “I think we’re done here.” I pulled out a manila envelope and dropped it in front of Joseph.
“These are divorce papers. I suggest you sign them quickly.”
As I walked out of the restaurant, I heard Joseph calling after me. “Bridget, please! I love you!”
“No, Joseph. You don’t get to say that anymore.”
The weeks that followed were a whirlwind of lawyers, paperwork, and difficult conversations. I threw myself into the divorce proceedings, determined to come out on top.
One day, my lawyer called with some hot news. “Bridget, we found something interesting. It seems Joseph has been squirreling away money to buy a beach house.”
I laughed bitterly. “Let me guess, a surprise for Miranda and the kids?”
“Most likely,” he replied. “But here’s the thing… it’s still in both your names. We can use this.”
A plan began to form in my mind. “Tell me more.”
My lawyer outlined the legal complexities, fueling my determination with every detail. Joseph had taken everything from me — my trust, my future, my dreams of a family.
Now, it was time for me to take something back.
The final divorce hearing arrived. Joseph looked haggard, the weight of his lies finally showing on his face.
As we waited outside the courtroom, he approached me. “Bridget, can we talk? Please?”
I crossed my arms. “What could you possibly have to say?”
“I’m sorry. I know it doesn’t change anything, but I truly am sorry. I never meant to hurt you.”
I looked at him, really looked at him, for the first time since that fateful video. “You’re right, Joseph. It doesn’t change anything. But thank you for finally being honest.”
Inside the courtroom, as the judge read through our settlement, Joseph’s eyes widened at each asset I was awarded. When she got to the beach house, he couldn’t contain himself.
“But that was supposed to be—” he cut himself off, realizing his mistake.
I smiled sweetly. “Supposed to be what, Joseph? A love nest for your secret family?”
The judge frowned. “Mr. Thompson, is there something you’d like to add?”
Joseph slumped in his chair, defeated. “No, Your Honor.”
As we left the courthouse, I felt a weight lift off my heart. It wasn’t just about the money or the assets. It was about reclaiming my dignity and my self-respect.
I walked away, leaving behind the shattered remains of our marriage and the man I thought I knew. As I stepped into the sunlight, I took a deep breath. The future was uncertain, but for the first time in weeks, I felt a sliver of hope.
My phone buzzed with a text from Lisa: “How did it go?”
“It’s over! And I’m finally free!🥲”
Walking down the courthouse steps, I realized this wasn’t just an ending. It was a beginning. A chance to rebuild, to rediscover myself, and to create a new life… one built on honesty, strength, and self-love.
The road ahead would be tough, but I was ready. After all, I had survived the worst betrayal imaginable. Whatever came next, I knew I could handle it. 😎
I Found Photos of Me with a Newborn, but I Don’t Remember Ever Being Pregnant
I opened a box of forgotten photos while cleaning the attic and found pictures of me holding a tiny newborn, my eyes brimming with love. But I’d never been pregnant, let alone given birth. I decided to investigate, unaware I must face a truth that would shatter me to the core.
A few weeks ago, I was cleaning the attic when I pulled an old box from the shelf. It was labeled “Photos – Keep” in my handwriting, though I had no memory of marking it. Dust motes danced in the bright light as I nervously opened the box.
An old box on the floor | Source: Midjourney
Inside, memories spilled out in glossy 4×6 prints: my college graduation with Mom and Dad beaming beside me, our wedding day with Daniel spinning me around the dance floor, and countless summer barbecues at the lake house.
Then, everything STOPPED.
There I was, in a hospital bed, cradling a newborn baby. My hair was plastered to my forehead with sweat, dark circles under my eyes, but my expression… I was gazing at that tiny bundle with such raw, pure love that it took my breath away.
A person holding a newborn baby | Source: Unsplash
More photos followed — me holding the baby against my chest, touching its impossibly small fingers, crying as I looked into its face. In another, I was feeding the baby, my finger trapped in its tiny fist.
But that was impossible. I’d never had a baby. Never been pregnant. NEVER. Then how was this possible?
I sank to the attic floor, surrounded by the scattered photos. My hands shook as I examined each one closely, searching for signs of manipulation or editing.
But they were real… the paper was aged and the corners slightly worn.
A shocked woman | Source: Midjourney
In one picture, a distinctive mustard-yellow chair sat in the corner of the hospital room, and the curtains had an odd geometric pattern I recognized.
It was St. Mary’s Hospital, the same hospital where we’d visited my aunt after her hip surgery last year.
Daniel was at work, and I was grateful for the solitude as I tried to make sense of what I was seeing. These photos showed a moment that should have been the most significant part of my life.
But I remembered nothing. Not a single second.
A mustard-yellow chair in a room | Source: Midjourney
My hands wouldn’t stop shaking as I gathered the photos and grabbed my car keys as soon as Daniel left for work the following morning.
I didn’t ask him anything as I wanted to find out about this mysterious baby on my own.
The hospital parking lot was nearly empty at 11 a.m. on that pleasant Tuesday. I sat in my car for five minutes, clutching the photos to my chest and trying to gather the courage to go inside.
A young mother walked past pushing a stroller, and my chest tightened with an emotion I couldn’t name.
A woman pushing a baby stroller | Source: Pexels
The reception area smelled of antiseptic and floor cleaner. A young woman with bright blue scrubs and a butterfly-shaped name tag looked up as I approached.
“Hi,” I said. “I need to access some old records of mine.”
“Look at this,” I then added, showing her the pictures. “Whose baby is this? Why am I holding it? I don’t remember anything. What’s happening?”
Without answering, she typed something on her phone and then frowned at her screen. Her fingers paused over the keypad.
“One moment, please!” she said, disappearing into a back office, whispering urgently to someone.
A hospital staff in scrubs | Source: Pexels
An older nurse emerged, her hair pulled back in a neat bun, her name tag reading “Nancy, Head Nurse.” Her eyes held a mix of concern and recognition that made my stomach twist.
“Miss, we do have records for you here, but we’ll need to contact your husband before we can discuss them.”
My stomach dropped. “What? Why?”
“Hospital policy, in cases like this. Please, let me call him now.”
A hospital staff holding documents | Source: Pexels
“No, these are my medical records. I have a right to know—”
But Nancy was already picking up the phone, her eyes never leaving my face. She dialed, and I heard the ring through the receiver.
“Sir? This is Nancy from St. Mary’s Hospital. Yes… your wife Angela is here requesting access to some medical records. Yes… I see… Could you come down right away? Yes, it’s about that… Thank you.”
A nurse holding a smartphone | Source: Pexels
My hands clenched into fists. “You know my husband? You have his number?”
“He’ll be here in 20 minutes. Would you like some water while you wait?”
“No. I want answers.”
I sank into a plastic chair, the photos clutched to my chest.
Every minute that ticked by on the waiting room clock felt like an eternity. When Daniel finally arrived, still in his work clothes, his face was ashen. He’d clearly driven here at full speed.
“Angela??”
A startled man in a hospital | Source: Midjourney
“What’s going on, Dan? Why do they have your number? Why won’t they talk to me without you?”
He turned to Nancy. “Is Dr. Peters available?”
The doctor’s office was small, with certificates covering one wall and a small window overlooking the parking lot. Dr. Peters was a middle-aged woman with kind eyes and worry lines around her mouth. She folded her hands on her desk as we sat down.
“Tell her,” Dr. Peters said. “Your wife deserves to know everything.”
My heart hammered against my ribs. “Know what? What’s going on?”
A doctor in her office | Source: Pexels
Daniel leaned forward, his elbows on his knees. “Six years ago, my sister Fiona came to us with a request. Do you remember how long she and Jack had been trying to have a baby?”
“Your sister? What does she have to do with this?”
“The fertility treatments weren’t working. The IVF failed three times,” he swallowed hard. “She asked if you would consider being her surrogate. And you said… yes.”
The world tilted sideways. “No. That’s not… I would remember that. A pregnancy? Being a surrogate? No, I wouldn’t—”
A shocked woman looking up | Source: Midjourney
“You were so determined to help her, Angel. You said it was the greatest gift you could give your sister-in-law. The pregnancy went perfectly. You were glowing and so happy to be helping them. But when the baby was was born—”
Dr. Peters spoke up. “You experienced a severe psychological break after delivery, Angela. The maternal hormones and bonding process were stronger than anyone anticipated. You refused to let go of the baby. When they tried to take him to Fiona, you became hysterical.”
I pressed my hands against my temples. “Stop. Please stop.”
Grayscale shot of a newborn baby | Source: Unsplash
“Your mind protected itself,” Dr. Peters explained gently. “It’s called dissociative amnesia. Your psyche built a wall around the memories to shield you from the trauma of the separation. In cases of severe emotional distress, the mind can—”
“You’re telling me I forgot an entire pregnancy? A whole baby? That’s not possible! I would know. My body would know. My heart would know.”
“Angel,” Daniel reached for my hand. But I jerked away so violently my chair scraped against the floor.
Portrait of a distressed man | Source: Midjourney
“Don’t touch me! You knew? All this time, you knew? Every time we talked about maybe having kids someday, every time we walked past a baby store… you knew I had carried a child? Given birth? And given him away like he was some freaking toy?”
“Where is he?” I demanded, my throat raw and eyes red-rimmed from crying.
“Fiona moved to the countryside shortly after. The doctors thought the distance would help you recover.”
A teary-eyed woman | Source: Unsplash
“So everyone just decided?” I laughed. “Everyone just chose to let me forget my own—” I couldn’t say the word. Couldn’t acknowledge what I’d lost. “Six years? Six birthdays, first steps, first words?”
“We thought we were protecting you.”
“By lying? By watching me live in ignorance? Did you all get together and plan this? Have meetings about how to keep me in the dark?”
“By letting you heal,” Dr. Peters interjected softly. “The mind can only handle so much pain, Angela. Your psyche chose this path for a reason.”
A frustrated woman | Source: Pexels
I dashed out of the hospital as fast as my legs could carry me. Daniel caught up, ushering me into the car. I was a total mess. My fragile heart was shattered beyond repair.
That night, I slept in our guest room, surrounded by the photos.
I studied each one until my eyes burned, trying to force my mind to remember. The way I touched his tiny face. The tears on my cheeks. The love in my eyes.
I pressed my hand against my stomach, trying to imagine him there, growing, moving, being part of me. But nothing came back. Nothing.
A sad woman sitting on the bed | Source: Pexels
“Can we see him?” I asked Daniel the next day.
“We should probably ask Fiona first,” he said, his voice uncertain. “But if you’re sure, I think she’ll be okay with it.”
It took a week to convince Fiona to let us visit. Seven days of negotiations through Daniel, because I couldn’t bear to speak to her directly. Not yet.
How do you talk to someone who has your child? Who took your child?
After countless phone calls and messages, Fiona finally agreed.
A man talking on the phone | Source: Pexels
The drive to the countryside was endless. I watched the landscape change through the window, each mile bringing me closer to a truth I wasn’t sure I could face.
Fields gave way to forests, forests to suburbs. All the while, my mind spun with questions.
Would he look like me? Would some part of him recognize me? Would I feel anything at all? Would he come running to me?
Aerial view of a car on the road | Source: Unsplash
Fiona’s house was everything I’d imagined during those sleepless nights. Perfect lawn, flowers in window boxes, a red bicycle leaning against the porch, and a tire swing. Wind chimes tinkled softly and the delicious smell of something cooking wafted in the air.
My legs shook so badly I could barely walk to the door.
Fiona stood there, just as I remembered her from the family pictures. But her eyes were cautious, teary, and guarded, like a watchful mother’s.
“Angela,” she said softly. “Come in.”
A teary-eyed woman looking at someone | Source: Pexels
My gaze swept across the room, searching for the little one who held the key to my forgotten past.
And there he was, peeking around the corner. Dark curls like mine and those familiar eyes. My heart squeezed so tight I couldn’t breathe.
My son! My baby! I longed to scream, to run to him, to hold him tight. But I stood rooted to the spot, numb with heartache.
“Tommy,” Fiona called, “come meet your Aunt Angela.”
A little boy wearing a hat | Source: Unsplash
He approached shyly, a toy dinosaur clutched in one hand. “Hello, Aunt Angela.”
“Hello, Tommy!” I said, his name feeling like a prayer on my tongue.
He studied me with those big, brown eyes, head tilted slightly. “Want to see my room? I have a bunk bed! And a T-Rex that roars when you push its belly.”
“I’d love that, sweetie.”
A woman with her eyes downcast | Source: Midjourney
As he led me upstairs, chattering about his dinosaur collection and his best friend Jake and how he could ride his bike without training wheels now, I felt it.
Not a memory exactly, but an echo. A ghost of what we might have been. Of all the moments I should have had.
Later that night, in our hotel room, I took out the photos one last time. The woman in them wasn’t a stranger anymore. I understood her joy, her pain, and her sacrifice even if I couldn’t remember feeling them myself.
A woman holding a newborn baby | Source: Unsplash
I touched the image of the baby, my finger tracing his tiny photostatic features.
“You okay?” Daniel asked from the doorway.
“No. But I think I will be.”
I slipped the photos back into an envelope. Some memories might stay lost and buried under years of protective fog. But now I had something more precious than memories: I had truth. And somehow, in that truth, I found the peace I didn’t know I’d been missing.
It would take time to fully come to terms with my truth, but this was a step in the right direction.
A woman holding an envelope | Source: Pexels
This work is inspired by real events and people, but it has been fictionalized for creative purposes. Names, characters, and details have been changed to protect privacy and enhance the narrative. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental and not intended by the author.
The author and publisher make no claims to the accuracy of events or the portrayal of characters and are not liable for any misinterpretation. This story is provided “as is,” and any opinions expressed are those of the characters and do not reflect the views of the author or publisher.
Leave a Reply