My name’s Oakley. Six months ago, I lost my baby at 16 weeks. The grief hollowed me out — every pregnant woman felt like an assault, and my body still looked pregnant even though there was nothing left.
At first, my husband Mason was supportive. Then he slowly pulled away, using work as an excuse so I spent nights alone grieving.
Then my sister Delaney announced she was pregnant at a family dinner. Everyone celebrated her while no one noticed my pain. I excused myself and cried alone.
Weeks later, she invited me to her gender reveal. Mason refused to go with me, claiming a “work trip.” At the party I overheard them together — then saw Mason kiss her. It was no accident. Delaney then revealed Mason was the father and they’d been together for six months — while I was mourning our loss.
Mason said I couldn’t carry another baby and that’s why he chose her. He handed me signed divorce papers. Everyone watched as I walked away.
At home I destroyed our photos and cried until I had nothing left. I ignored calls. Mason didn’t come home.
The next morning I saw news of Delaney’s house burning down. She and the baby survived, but lost everything. I felt only numbness — maybe justice.
My parents called. They finally saw how wrong they were.
Weeks later, Mason and Delaney showed up at my door asking for forgiveness. I refused and shut the door. I felt free.
I later learned they split up. I saw Delaney once at the store and walked past without speaking.
You don’t owe forgiveness to people who shattered you. You owe yourself distance and healing. Focus on rebuilding — that’s the best revenge.