“On My Son’s First-Month Celebration, I Found a Pregnancy Report in My Husband’s Phone — But the Name on the Form Wasn’t Mine, and the Date Was When I Was Still Carrying Our Child”
The Report That Changed the Celebration
The house smelled of red eggs and sweet rice wine that morning — the scent of happiness, of family, of celebration.
It was my son’s full-month ceremony — his first milestone. The living room was filled with laughter, guests bringing red envelopes and warm blessings.
I should have been smiling.
I should have been the happiest woman alive.
But while my husband, Lu Chuan’an, entertained guests with his easy charm, I went upstairs to fetch my phone — and that’s when everything changed.
Chapter 1: The Notification
On his desk, his phone buzzed.
A new message appeared — a clinic’s name I didn’t recognize.
The preview line read:
“Your appointment summary and pregnancy test results are attached.”
My heart skipped. It must have been sent by mistake, I thought. Maybe it was an automated notification from the hospital we’d gone to months ago.
But then curiosity — or something darker — pulled me in.
I unlocked his phone.
(We shared passwords. At least, I thought we did.)
Chapter 2: The Report
The screen opened to a PDF.
“Pregnancy Examination — Patient: Jiang Xinyue.”
Not my name.
My hands went cold.
The date was last month — three weeks ago, when I was still recovering from childbirth.
I scrolled further down.
Weeks pregnant: 5.
Hospital: Haiyuan Women’s Clinic.
Signature: Lu Chuan’an (Guardian/Partner).
The air left my lungs.
For a moment, I thought I might faint.
Downstairs, laughter echoed — the sound of relatives praising our son’s “strong features, just like his father’s.”
But in that room, with the blue glow of the screen and the sound of my own pulse pounding in my ears, all I could think was:
“When did he have time to get someone else pregnant?”
Chapter 3: The Perfect Husband
If someone had asked me yesterday what kind of man my husband was, I’d have said: steady, kind, meticulous.
He woke early, cooked breakfast, remembered anniversaries, and held my hand through labor.
Even last night, he’d stayed up to check on our baby every few hours.
Now, every memory replayed like a cruel parody — each smile, each gentle word, suddenly suspect.
Was it guilt behind those kind eyes?
Or calculation?
Chapter 4: The Guests
I went back downstairs, clutching the phone like a fragile secret.
Chuan’an saw me and smiled. “There you are. Everyone’s been waiting for you!”
He poured me tea, his fingers brushing mine — and I flinched.
“Are you okay?” he whispered. “You look pale.”
I smiled faintly. “Just tired.”
Inside, I was screaming.
Every congratulatory toast, every camera flash, every polite compliment felt like a cruel joke.
The man everyone envied was the same one who’d signed another woman’s pregnancy report.
Chapter 5: The Slip
That night, after the last guest left and our baby finally slept, I confronted him.
“There’s something you need to tell me.”
He froze. “What do you mean?”
I placed his phone on the table, the report still open.
He went still. His expression — not guilt, not fear — but calculation.
Then, calmly:
“She’s a client.”
I laughed. “A client? For what, exactly? You’re not a doctor.”
“She needed advice,” he said. “Her boyfriend left her. She didn’t want her name to appear on the clinic’s record, so she used mine for confidentiality.”
“Then why does it say partner?”
He hesitated. “They just put that automatically.”
“And the signature?”
He didn’t answer.
Chapter 6: The Memory
That night, after he fell asleep, I couldn’t.
I kept remembering things — small, ordinary details that now glowed like warning signs I’d ignored.
The late-night calls.
The new cologne.
The “business trips” that lasted one night longer than they should have.
And one memory — from five months ago — when he came home smelling faintly of lavender.
I’d joked, “You smell like someone’s perfume.”
He’d kissed me and said, “Maybe it’s the nurse’s hand soap from your checkup.”
Now, I wasn’t so sure.
Chapter 7: The Investigation
The next morning, while he took our baby for a stroll, I called the number listed on the report.
“Haiyuan Women’s Clinic,” said a polite voice.
“Hello, I’m calling to confirm an appointment made under the name Jiang Xinyue.”
“One moment, please.”
Click.
Pause.
Then: “Yes, that appointment was last month. The accompanying contact number is… ending in 4129.”
My husband’s number.
“Can I ask who signed the guardian form?”
The receptionist replied, “Lu Chuan’an. Husband.”
The room spun.
Chapter 8: The Confrontation
That night, when he returned, I was waiting in the living room.
“I called the clinic.”
He froze, then sighed — as if tired rather than caught.
“Listen,” he said. “It’s not what you think.”
“Then explain.”
He rubbed his temples. “She’s… someone I helped. A friend who made a mistake. I didn’t want her to feel abandoned.”
I stared at him. “You signed as her husband.”
“It was paperwork,” he said sharply. “Don’t twist this.”
I laughed bitterly. “Twist what? The fact that while I was breastfeeding our son, you were signing prenatal forms with another woman?”
His voice rose. “You’re overreacting! It was a misunderstanding.”
“Then show me her messages.”
He hesitated — then deleted them in front of me.
And that, more than anything, told me the truth.
Chapter 9: The Confession
Three days later, a message arrived on my phone.
An unknown number.
“I’m sorry. I didn’t know he was married. I’ll end it. Please don’t blame him — he said you two were separated.”
No name.
But I didn’t need one.
Chapter 10: The Celebration Replayed
A week later, I rewatched the video from our son’s full-month celebration.
In every frame, my husband smiled proudly. Held the baby gently. Kissed my forehead before the camera.
A perfect portrait of a loving family.
Only I knew that, even then, his phone had held another woman’s heartbeat.
Chapter 11: The Decision
I didn’t scream. I didn’t throw things.
I simply packed a small bag and left with my son one morning before dawn.
When he called, I answered once.
“I’m sorry,” he said quietly. “I made a mistake.”
“You made several,” I said. “The biggest one was thinking I wouldn’t find out.”
He was silent for a long time. Then: “What will you tell our son when he grows up?”
I looked at my baby sleeping peacefully in my arms.
“That truth doesn’t need words,” I said. “It’s written in the choices we make.”
Epilogue: The Report
Months later, a courier came to my new address with an envelope.
Inside was the same medical report — but now, across the top, someone had written in pen:
“Final status: Terminated.”
I felt nothing.
Not anger, not satisfaction — only an ending.
I placed the report into a drawer, beside my son’s birth certificate.
Two papers — one marking betrayal, the other, new life.
And I promised myself:
One of them would define me.
The other would never again.
End.
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