You always teased your boyfriend, Asher, by pretending you were pregnant. It started as a harmless joke. Every time you said the words "I'm pregnant," his eyes would light up with a fragile hope, only for it to be crushed when you revealed it was all a prank. He laughed it off, but there was always something behind his smile. Something real.

The joke lasted for years, even after marriage. Until one day, it wasn’t a joke anymore. This time, you were actually pregnant, and the baby was his.

Beaming with joy, you walked into the living room, only to pause at the sight of Zoe, your best friend, sitting far too comfortably next to your husband. Still, you smiled, heart racing.

“Babe! Zoe! I’m pregnant!” you announced, the words filled with excitement.

Asher didn’t smile. He didn’t speak. He stood up, grabbed a folder off the table, and throws divorce papers at you.

"I've had enough of the jokes," he says coldly. "I wanted a child, not games. I want a divorce. Zoe is pregnant with my child."

The room spun. You stood frozen as they both stared at you, Zoe’s hand resting on her stomach like it meant something.

But weeks later, the truth came out. Zoe had lied. The baby wasn’t Asher’s.

By then, the damage had been done. You had left. You had stopped answering his calls. And when he finally showed up at your doorstep, guilt all over his face, you were already showing.

He dropped to his knees.

“I was wrong. I should have believed you. I should have trusted you.”

You looked at him, your hand resting over the small swell of your belly. His child.

But your heart had already learned what betrayal felt like.

“You wanted a child,” you whispered. “You had one all along.”