In the empty bathroom, I locked myself in a stall, expecting tears. Instead, a strange calm settled over me. This betrayal, while crushing, wasn’t shocking. Lauren had always taken what was mine; Ryan had shown his cracks for months. I splashed water on my face, staring at my reflection. “You will not break,” I told myself. “Not for them.” I reapplied my lipstick, steady-handed.
Back at the table, they were discussing baby names. “If it’s a boy, maybe Ryan Jr.,” Lauren said. “Or Carter as a first name. Carter Thompson sounds nice, right?” My married name, already hers. “Or for a girl, Ryann?” She laughed, touching Ryan’s arm. I sat down, their eyes—guilty, concerned, anticipatory—on me. Lauren expected a meltdown. Instead, I smiled. “You’ve made this birthday unforgettable,” I said calmly. “But I’d like to eat my cheesecake before it melts.” Lauren’s smile wavered; Ryan looked stunned. “Em, we should talk arrangements,” he started. I raised a hand. “Not now. I’m eating my cake.” I took a deliberate bite, savoring the caramel despite the bitterness inside. They stared as if I’d sprouted wings. “What?” I asked. “Did you expect me to collapse? Sorry to disappoint.”
“There’s something you should know,” I continued, my hand trembling slightly. “I’ve known about your affair for three months.” Ryan’s head snapped up; Lauren’s smirk faded. “What?” Ryan stammered. “Your email password, Ryan—our anniversary date? Not secure,” I said. “Mom, announcing an affair at my birthday dinner isn’t appropriate either, but here we are.” In March, I’d used Ryan’s laptop when mine failed. An email from Lauren, subject “Last Night,” popped up. Curiosity won over ethics. It detailed their office tryst and prior meetups. I’d kept it secret, needing time to plan.
“I hired a PI, Harper Investigations,” I continued. “They’ve got photos of you at Lauren’s apartment 27 times, Ryan. Recorded calls, even the receipt for that bracelet she’s wearing, which wasn’t from a client.” Lauren hid her wrist. “You spied on me?” Ryan snapped. “That’s rich, coming from the man who betrayed my marriage,” I shot back. “It’s all legal, unlike adultery, which is grounds for a fault-based divorce in Washington.”
Dad shifted. “Emily, maybe—” “I’m not done,” I cut in. “Two months ago, I hired Karen Mitchell, Seattle’s top divorce attorney. The papers are ready, Ryan. I’ve documented everything, secured our finances, protected my assets. Karen advised waiting for all evidence. Lauren’s announcement just moved up my timeline.” Mom teared up. “A divorce is so final, Emily. Surely counseling—” “No, Mom,” I said firmly. “There’s no coming back from this. And one more thing.” I pulled a folded document from my purse, carried for weeks. “Ryan had a vasectomy two years ago. We decided kids weren’t for us.
He didn’t want the responsibility.” Lauren stared, then at Ryan. “That’s a lie,” she whispered. “Check the record,” I said. “Seattle General, Dr. Patel, 26 months ago. Ryan recovered watching the Super Bowl, with me fetching ice packs.” Ryan looked sick. “Em, I can explain—” “Explain what?” Lauren shrieked. “You had a vasectomy and didn’t tell me?” Mom held the document, hands shaking. “Is this true, Ryan?” His silence confirmed it.
I turned to Lauren. “So, if you’re pregnant, congrats. Just not to Ryan. He’s sterile. Who’s the real father? Do you know?” The restaurant quieted, nearby tables eavesdropping. Lauren stammered, “It’s a mistake. The records are wrong.” “They’re not,” Ryan admitted. “I should’ve told you, Lauren. I didn’t think it mattered. We used protection.” “You never thought she’d trap you with a pregnancy that’s not yours,” I finished. Lauren stood, grabbing her purse. “I need air.” Ryan hesitated, then followed her, leaving me with my stunned parents.
Dad cleared his throat. “Emily, I don’t know what to say.” “Nothing to say,” I replied, eating my cheesecake. It tasted hollow, but I finished it. “Jessica might need a paternity test, though.” Mom cried silently. “How are you so calm?” “This was predictable,” I said. “Lauren’s been taking what’s mine forever, and you enabled her. This time, I was ready.” I signed the check, tipping generously, and stood. “This celebration’s over.”