When Liam’s birthday rolled around, I was excited to celebrate. But he claimed he had an urgent business trip. Disappointed, I accepted it—until I saw him at a restaurant, cozy with my best friend, Mandy. My mother, who was with me, snapped a few photos. Instead of confronting them, we devised a plan.
A week later, I invited Liam, Mandy, and her husband, Steve, over for dinner. As we ate, I announced my pregnancy. Liam feigned joy while Mandy’s smile faltered. Then, I dropped the real bomb: “The baby is Steve’s.”
Chaos erupted. Steve choked on his food, Mandy gasped, and Liam turned red. “That’s impossible!” Steve shouted.
“Is it?” I asked, then played footage from hidden nanny cams. Mandy and Liam’s voices filled the room:
“Does Trina know?” Mandy whispered. “I can’t lose Steve’s money.”
“She has no idea,” Liam assured her. “You look pretty when you cry.”
Steve’s face darkened. “You stayed with me for money?”
Mandy’s silence was enough. Steve took a deep breath. “Our prenup has a fidelity clause. You’re leaving with nothing.”
Liam paled. I turned to him. “You can pack your things, too.”
“What about the baby?” he asked.
“There is no baby,” I said. “I just wanted to see if you’d be happy.”
As Liam stormed out with Mandy, I felt vindicated. Thanks to my prenup and the footage, I knew my divorce would leave Liam with what he truly deserved—nothing.
