Eight months after the divorce, my phone buzzed with his name. “Come to my wedding,” he said, smug as ever. “She’s pregnant—unlike you.” I froze, fingers tightening around the hospital sheet.

The room still smelled of antiseptic, my body still aching from the birth he didn’t even know happened. I stared at the sleeping baby beside me and let out a slow laugh. “Sure,” I whispered. “I’ll be there.” He has no idea what I’m bringing. And when he sees it… everything will change.