But Angela didn’t calm down. Instead, she got even more involved. She started dragging me to baby stores, gushing over tiny onesies, rattles, and crib sets.
One of those times, at the mall, I stepped away to use the restroom for what felt like the fiftieth time—my daughter was constantly pressing on my bladder.
“I’ll be right back,” I told Angela. She barely nodded, too busy admiring a tiny pink dress.
When I returned, she was gone. I scanned the aisles, expecting to see her near the checkout or another baby display. But she wasn’t there. A strange feeling crept over me.
Then, through the glass window of a costume shop, I saw her.
Angela stood near the back, holding something against her stomach. I stepped closer, my heart pounding. A fake pregnancy belly.
I froze. My brain struggled to process what I was seeing. Why would she need that? Then, the truth hit me like a wave.
Angela wasn’t pregnant.
That was the only explanation. I gripped my phone and snapped a few photos. I could have confronted her, but no. I had a better plan.
When I got home, I told Carl everything. I showed him the photos. He frowned but didn’t say much.
“Are you sure that’s why she was buying the belly?” he finally asked.
I crossed my arms. “What else could it be for?”
Carl studied the picture again. “I’ve seen women buy those to try on maternity clothes.”
I shook my head. “That would make sense if she had never been pregnant before. But she has. She knows how a belly grows. She doesn’t need that.”
Carl sighed. “That was years ago. Maybe she forgot how it feels. Maybe she just wanted to experience it again.”
“That doesn’t explain why she was sneaking around a costume shop,” I said.
Carl hesitated. “It still doesn’t prove anything.”
I met his eyes. “Fine. If you won’t believe me now, I’ll prove it to you.”
I spent months planning Angela’s exposure. I didn’t just want to reveal her lie—I wanted revenge. She had ruined our gender reveal party, so I would ruin hers.
When Angela announced the date for her celebration, I marked my calendar. This was my chance.
The day of the party, I sat on her couch, arms crossed, heart racing. I forced a polite smile, but inside, I was bursting with anticipation. The moment of truth was close.
I had everything ready—a “gift” just for Angela and a hired photographer to capture it all.
Guests chattered around me. Angela glowed with excitement, holding Jesse’s hand. They stood by the table, eyes shining.
In front of them sat a cake. A single slice would reveal the “baby’s” gender. Angela and Jesse placed their hands on the knife together.
“It’s a girl!” Angela exclaimed, her voice bright with excitement. She clapped her hands together. “Just like Julia and Carl’s!”
I rolled my eyes. I forced a tight smile, but my patience was wearing thin. I could barely contain myself.
The photographer approached, adjusting the camera strap on her shoulder. “Let’s take a few photos to capture the moment!” she said.
Angela beamed and pulled Jesse closer. They stood behind the cake, hands clasped together, posing for the camera.
“Now, let’s do one with the belly showing,” the photographer suggested.
