What should have been my happiest day turned into a reckoning. Our long-planned gender reveal became the stage where I uncovered my husband’s betrayal in front of everyone.
Grant and I had been shaky, but lately things seemed better. He joked about fatherhood, helped with planning, and even wore a pink shirt for the party. I thought we were stronger. I was wrong.
Two nights before, I found messages on his phone from “M💋”—flirty texts, hotel bookings, and a photo of him with another woman kissing his cheek. My chest split open, but I decided not to cancel the party. With my friend Lila’s help, I folded the evidence into slips hidden inside the balloon.
The big moment came. Surrounded by family, Grant played the proud husband. When the balloon burst, the slips rained down. Guests gasped as they read the proof. Grant shouted, “You ruined everything!” but I told him calmly, “No, Grant. You did.”
He stormed out. Lila quipped, “Guess we know the gender of his moral compass,” easing the tension. I cut the cake—blue inside. “It’s a boy,” I said. “And I’ll raise him to be a better man than his father.”
