We planned a big gender reveal because our families love spectacle. Backyard party, decorations, cupcakes, cameras—and one giant white reveal box. Harper, my sister, insisted on handling the reveal since she was the only one who knew the baby’s gender.
Two days before the party, Blake was in the shower. A phone buzzed on the coffee table. I picked it up, thinking it was mine.
It wasn’t.
A message popped up from a contact saved as “❤️”:
I can’t wait to see you tomorrow, darling.
My body went cold.
I opened the chat. Flirting. Plans. Messages like “Delete this” and “She doesn’t suspect anything—she’s distracted with the pregnancy.”
Then I saw a photo.
A woman’s collarbone. A gold crescent-moon necklace.
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