“Yeah, I’m fine,” I lied, tucking my phone into my pocket. I didn’t want to confront him about the message—not now, not when everything felt so fragile. I had just given birth, and my emotions were already a maelstrom of exhaustion and elation. I needed time to process, to decide what this all meant.

Once back in my room, I nestled our newborn son in my arms. His tiny fingers curled around mine, grounding me, reminding me of what mattered most. I had spent the last few years trying to put my life back together after my divorce from Michael, and David had been a significant part of that healing journey. He’d been there for me in ways that made me believe in love again.

But doubt gnawed at the edges of my happiness. Michael’s reaction was genuine, his fear palpable. He wasn’t the type to make baseless accusations. And though our marriage had ended, he had never been anything but honest with me. The thought lingered: What did he know about David that I didn’t?