I returned from a routine checkup, humming with excitement, clutching the ultrasound photo like a treasure. On my door was a scrap of paper, scrawled in hurried handwriting: “Run. Even you don’t deserve it.”
I froze. My first thought was that it was a prank, maybe a threat. But something about the words unsettled me. They weren’t angry. They weren’t vengeful. They were… warning.
That evening, my phone buzzed. A message request on Facebook Messenger. A fake account. I opened it, expecting nonsense. Instead, I found photographs.
Dozens of them.
My partner—my supposed soulmate—was in every frame. Holding hands with another woman. A pregnant woman. Her belly round, her smile tender. The photos were recent. I recognized the shirt he wore, the haircut I had paid for, the sneakers we picked out together. The angles were strange, like someone had followed them, documenting their intimacy from the shadows.
My chest tightened. My stomach churned. I scrolled through the images, each one slicing deeper into the illusion I had built. And then came the message.
