He had cried when they saw the first ultrasound.
He'd kissed Naya's stomach.
He'd spent twenty minutes arguing over which color to paint the nursery.
And all that time, another woman had been preparing to give birth to his child.
Her husband cleared his throat.
"We need to talk."
Naya slowly raised her eyes.
"I think you came prepared."
He glanced toward the legal folder beside her, then dismissed it.
He stepped forward and slammed a thick stack of papers onto the granite island.
"Sign these damn papers. She's moving in, and you're leaving tonight."
The sound made the baby stir.
Naya looked toward the child instinctively.
Her husband didn't seem to notice.
The mistress moved closer, rolling her suitcase toward the stairs.
"I've already packed everything I need," she announced. "He says the upstairs guest bedroom is being converted into a nursery."
Naya swallowed.
That room had belonged to her mother.
Not officially, not through any recorded designation, but through years of memory. Before her mother died, she stayed there during visits, filled the closet with spare blankets, and placed a small framed photograph of Naya as a child on the bedside table.
Now this woman was speaking about transforming it into a nursery for a baby conceived during Naya's marriage.
The mistress smiled.
"He chose me, sweetheart. Now get the hell out of our house."
Naya looked at her.
For several seconds, she couldn't speak.
Then she reached toward the papers.
The mistress abruptly stepped forward and slapped Naya's hand away.
"Don't touch those unless you're ready to sign."
Naya recoiled.
Her other hand moved protectively over her stomach.
The baby inside her kicked.
For a moment, the room seemed to tilt.
Her husband watched without intervening.
Then he looked at his watch.
"I have a meeting at noon. Let's not make this difficult."
Naya slowly lifted her eyes.
Something in her expression changed.
The shock was still there.
So was the pain.
But beneath it, a remarkable calm began replacing the helplessness her husband had expected.
She reached toward a separate manila envelope lying beside her.
Then slid it across the granite.
"Before I sign anything," she said softly, "you should look at this."
Her husband frowned.
"What is that?"
Naya didn't answer.
He glanced at the first page.
Then recognized his own signature.
For a moment, confusion crossed his face.
He leaned closer.
"What is this?"
Naya looked directly at him.
"You should've read what you signed yesterday."
The mistress stopped smiling.
The husband's jaw tightened.
He turned the page.
Then another.