The Secret in His Lens

Just because my best friend’s ginger cat was hopelessly clingy toward my husband, I decided to divorce him. That cat only ever let my husband get close. Because of that cat, he missed our ninety-ninth date. Even when I passed out from the excruciating pain of IVF hormone injections, he was still by that ginger cat's side. Until one afternoon, while cleaning out an old phone of his, I stumbled upon an album containing over three thousand photos. Not a single one was of a ginger cat. Instead, they were all of a child. A photo for every single month, from birth to the present. One hundred days old, first birthday, taking his first steps, saying "Daddy" for the first time. And the geotag on every single picture pointed straight to my best friend Rachel’s apartment. He hadn’t been taking care of a sick cat. He had been playing daddy to his biological son. Swallowing the rising nausea, I backed up every single file and immediately dialed my attorney. "Please draft a divorce agreement for me. As soon as possible." I turned around and saw the "Conception Diet Plan" that Rachel had dropped off just last week sitting on the counter. I still remembered what she’d said back then: "I tested this routine myself, Grace! It’s guaranteed to get you pregnant." Turns out, she and my husband, Brandon, had already put that routine to the test together. Sickened to my core, I swept the notebook straight into the trash can. Then, I called Brandon. "If you’re not back home in thirty minutes, we’re getting a divorce." When Brandon pushed the front door open, he found me sitting alone on the couch, staring into space. "Why are the lights off? And what was that crazy talk on the phone?" "You know I just ran over to Rachel's." "Her cat has diarrhea, and she couldn't handle him on her own. I just helped her feed him some medicine." I placed his old phone face down on the coffee table, forcing my raging emotions down. He walked closer, his eyes still brimming with what looked like pure, earnest devotion. "That little orange ball is way too clingy. He wouldn't stop wrapping himself around my leg." "On my way back, I made a detour downtown and grabbed your favorite dumplings from that spot you love." I stared at the steaming thermal container on the table, not making a move. "Is it really just a ginger cat?" "What does that cat even look like, Brandon?" Brandon turned to face me, his gaze entirely open and innocent, yet completely empty of any proof. "Just an ordinary ginger cat. Chubby, super greedy." "I'll snap a picture for you next time. You'll think he's adorable." "Are you seriously getting jealous over a cat?" He stepped closer and reached out habitually to ruffle my hair. I tilted my head, pulling away from his touch. His hand froze in midair before he smoothly pulled it back. "What’s wrong? Bad mood today?" He asked softly, his brows knitting together in slight concern. Chattering away with gentle nagging, he popped open the thermal container. The savory aroma of pan-fried dumplings wafted through the room—my absolute favorite from the old days. Yet the realization that this man, who showered me with endless tenderness, kept an entire family on the side... That he hid behind every pitiful excuse imaginable... made my stomach violently churn. He handed me a fork. "Eat up while it's hot. I stood in line for half an hour to get these." I took the fork and prodded the dumpling, leaving it untouched. "Brandon, do you remember where you were on our third wedding anniversary?" He blinked, clearly not expecting the question. "There was an emergency board meeting at the office. I explained that to you, didn't I?" "I made it up to you that weekend anyway, and I even bought you that designer necklace." On that very day, Rachel had posted an update on her Ins. "Celebrating my little ginger kitten's first birthday all by myself." "It’s exhausting, but life always deserves a little celebration." Back then, I had even left a comment underneath. "Take good care of yourself! If you ever need a hand, just let me and Brandon know." Looking back now, a wave of sickening dread washed over me. "Never mind," I said, putting down the fork and locking eyes with him. "I just remembered... Rachel's ginger cat celebrated his first birthday that exact same day. What a crazy coincidence." A flicker of guilt flashed through Brandon’s eyes. He quickly masked it by picking up a dumpling, his smile effortlessly nonchalant. "Really? Wow, that is a coincidence." "I want a divorce, Brandon." With that, I turned on my heel, walked into the bedroom, and slammed the door shut. Outside, his heavy, exasperated sigh filtered through the wood. "You're always doing this—throwing tantrums over nothing! I already explained everything. I was literally just checking on a cat! What more do you want from me?" "I'm exhausted from work. Can you cut me some slack for once?" I leaned my back against the door, listening to his retreating footsteps. Suddenly, unbidden memories of the old Brandon flashed through my mind. Once upon a time, Brandon truly had loved me with everything he had. Back when his startup was just getting off the ground, he flipped a dining table on an investor who dared to disrespect me. On our wedding day, he handed a top-tier life insurance policy directly into the hands of the elderly orphanage director. My name was printed clearly under the sole beneficiary column. He had knelt straight down in the dirt courtyard, swearing a solemn vow. "Don't worry, Director. Grace is my life from this day forward." "Even if the sky falls down, I'll throw my own body underneath to cushion hers. I won't ever let her suffer a single grievance!" That devotion was witnessed by everyone we knew. Everyone believed that an orphan girl had finally found the safest harbor in the world. Those resonant vows still echoed clearly in my ears. Yet the man who spoke them had long since rotted from the inside out. I let out a ragged breath and booked my ticket out of town.The next morning. Brandon strolled over to the empty dining table, rubbing his temples with an irritated groan. "No breakfast today? My stomach feels off. I was hoping for some warm oatmeal." Without looking up, I slid Rachel's handwritten recipe across the counter toward him. "I'm clumsy. I doubt you'd like whatever I whip up." "If you want something warm, ask Rachel to make it for you." Brandon’s eyes flickered. He stepped over, attempting to wrap his arms around my shoulders from behind. "Why are you being so passive-aggressive? Are you still sulking over yesterday?" "Don't touch me." I stepped aside, looking him up and down with cold detachment. "Didn't you just finish feeding Rachel's cat medicine yesterday?" "Who knows what's stuck to your clothes. It disgusts me." Brandon’s hand froze midair. He forced down his rising temper. "Don't be like this. I've just been overwhelmed with work lately and neglected you." "This weekend, let's take a trip up to the mountains to see the fall leaves. Just the two of us." I remembered the autumn four years ago, watching the sunrise from that very peak. On the trek down, I twisted my ankle. Without a second thought, Brandon hoisted me onto his back. For three grueling hours along that rugged mountain trail, sweat completely drenched his crisp white shirt. Yet when he finally set me down, he was still smiling as he wiped the sweat from my brow. "As long as you're on my back, I could carry you down this road for the rest of my life." Remembering the past, those sweet memories and broken promises made my eyes sting with bitter heat. "Okay." It was the perfect opportunity to cut all remaining ties once and for all. Hearing my agreement, a genuine smile spread across Brandon’s face. "It gets windy up there. Make sure you pack a warm coat so you don't catch a cold." That evening, the front door pushed open. Behind Brandon stood Rachel, holding a ginger cat in her arms. "Grace! Brandon said you've been feeling down lately. I happen to be going out of town on a business trip, so I thought I'd drop Sunny off to keep you company!" Rachel smiled with sweet, innocent charm, casually setting the cat down onto the living room rug. Staring at the very real, living ginger cat prancing across the floor, a seed of doubt flared in my chest. The old phone undeniably held years of memories of a little boy running around. Yet here she was, holding an actual flesh-and-blood cat. Where was the child? Instinct took over, and I clamped a hand over my mouth and nose, staggering backward. The stray fur floating through the air made my stomach violently heave. "Rachel, you know damn well I'm severely allergic to cats." My voice was ice. Rachel gasped dramatically, clutching Brandon’s sleeve with reddened, tearful eyes. "I... I didn't think it through! I just wanted to cheer her up... I'll take him away right now..." Brandon immediately stepped in front of her, frowning at me with undisguised blame. "It's just a cat, Grace. Do you have to make a federal case out of everything?" "Rachel was trying to do something nice so you wouldn't be bored alone at home. Just take an antihistamine! Do you really have to give her attitude?" "I'm making a scene? An allergic reaction can kill me, Brandon! Don't you know that?" I shot back, my voice shaking with rage. The cat darted across the living room. Within minutes, my neck began to itch fiercely. A dry, ragged cough tore from my throat as angry red hives erupted along my collarbone. I spun around to rummage through the medicine cabinet for my emergency allergy pills. My eyes flicked past the half-open kitchen door, catching sight of two intertwined silhouettes. Rachel was half-leaning against the counter, her fingers casually hooked into the hem of Brandon’s shirt, pressed flush against his chest. "She's so terrifying," she murmured. "Is it going to be harder for you to come visit our little boy from now on?" Brandon chuckled softly, patting the back of her hand with fond indulgence. "Ignore her. She’s throwing another one of her ridiculous fits. Be good, and stay safe on your trip." Hearing the words "our little boy", the very last shred of doubt inside me shattered into dust. I gripped the edge of the cabinet. The first-aid kit had been cleared out; my regular allergy medication was completely gone. Panic seized my chest, and cold sweat broke out across my back. The hives on my neck burned like fire, and breathing became a terrifying struggle. "Brandon..." I choked out, leaning heavily against the doorframe. "The allergy meds are gone. The hives are spreading fast. Take me to the ER." Brandon turned around, but right at that moment, a piercing screech from the cat echoed from the living room, followed by Rachel’s terrified scream. His face drained of color, and he pushed past me without a second thought. Rachel was collapsed on the floor, holding up a hand dripping with bloody scratch marks. "How did it scratch you that deep?" Brandon’s face was filled with frantic worry. He snatched her hand, inspecting the wound. "Come on, I'm taking you to the hospital right now!" I called out to him, pointing at my rapidly swelling throat. "I can barely breathe... Can't you drop me off first?" Brandon glanced back at my blotchy red skin, his eyebrows knitting into a harsh scowl. "I cleaned out the medicine cabinet two days ago; I probably tossed your expired pills." "Why can't you ever prioritize what's actually urgent?" "It's not like I haven't seen your allergies before. You get a rash for a couple of days! Just call an Uber and get a prescription!" "Rachel is bleeding! She's your best friend! If she contracts rabies, it could be fatal! Can't you show a little empathy for once?" Watching him gently press a clean tissue against Rachel's hand, I didn't even have the strength left to argue. Unsettled by my hollow stare, Brandon averted his gaze and grabbed his car keys. "Call an Uber and go see an urgent care clinic." "Stop acting so dramatic. Once I get her rabies shot sorted out, I'll come find you at the hospital." The front door slammed shut with a deafening thud, leaving only drifting cat hair in the empty apartment. I touched my burning, itching throat, the stinging heat in my eyes slowly turning to ice. In that singular moment, the pain strangely ebbed away.I ended up taking a cab alone to the downtown ER. It took two IV bags of antihistamines and corticosteroids before the hives finally began to recede, though my throat remained so raw I could barely speak. Just as I shuffled into the main lobby, I walked right into Brandon and Rachel. Rachel had a neat, sterile bandage wrapped around her wrist, happily holding up her phone to record a vlog. Brandon walked beside her, carrying an upscale shopping bag in his hand. "Grace! Perfect timing—we just finished getting my shot downstairs and came up to check on you!" Rachel hurried forward, intentionally angling her camera lens straight at my pale, haggard face. Inside the gift bag were several sets of designer baby boy clothes. "I heard Grace has been stressed out lately. It must be all the pressure from trying to conceive for so long." "I went to a famous blessing chapel to get these blessed baby clothes. May they bring you the luck to get pregnant soon!" My eyes locked onto the baby clothes, burning with silent agony. For three long years of marriage, I had suffered through hell trying to give Brandon a child. I swallowed bitter fertility concoctions until my taste buds went completely numb. Every single month brought endless ovulation-stimulating hormone shots, leaving my abdomen mottled with purple bruises. The raging hormones caused chronic insomnia, keeping me awake through nights of blinding pain. Back then, Brandon had held me close with tears of sympathy in his eyes: "It's okay, Grace. We'll let nature take its course. Even if we never have kids, it's you and me against the world." I glared coldly at the two people standing before me, reaching out and shoving the gift bag away. "Take it back. I don't want it." I barely used any force, yet Rachel let out an exaggerated, theatrical shriek. She stumbled backward dramatically and collapsed hard onto the polished tile floor. With a rustling crash, the designer baby clothes scattered across the floor. Brandon bolted forward, pulling her up before turning to roar at me in pure fury. "Rachel ran all over town to get these blessings for you, and this is how you treat her?" "Can you stop taking your bitter frustration over being infertile out on innocent people?" Rachel melted into his embrace, sobbing pitifully toward her phone camera. "I'm sorry... I just saw how hard Grace was struggling with IVF... I only wanted to share some good luck with her..." The surrounding patients and visitors immediately crowded around, whispering and pointing at me with open disgust. "What an ungrateful woman, pushing someone who gave her a gift." "Probably barren and bitter, can't stand seeing anyone else happy." Watching Brandon shield Rachel with fierce, tender protectiveness, I turned away with absolute numbness and walked straight out of the hospital doors. "Brandon, if you're so eager to start a new family, go right ahead. It has nothing to do with me anymore. Just get the hell out of my life!" That very afternoon, she uploaded an edited clip to TikTok. The caption flashed across the screen in bold letters: "I tried to bless my best friend who's been struggling with infertility for three years, and she publicly shoved and humiliated me." The video conveniently cut out the fact that I had almost suffocated from an allergic reaction. It only showed her tearfully offering baby clothes, followed by me shoving her to the ground with a cold, heartless glare. Within hours, the video went viral. Public outrage swallowed me like a tidal wave. My social media accounts were doxxed, and my DMs flooded with vile, graphic harassment. Strangers dug up my history from before our marriage. "No wonder she's barren. She grew up in an orphanage! She's got poison in her DNA!" Even the orphanage that raised me was flooded with one-star reviews on Google, with trolls claiming the facility bred sociopaths. Staring at the endless stream of vitriol, my hands and feet turned entirely cold. Brandon slammed the front door open, his face dark with irritation. "You've seen what's happening online. Post an apology video right now and say it was all a misunderstanding." "Do you have any idea Rachel makes a living as an influencer? Several of her major maternity brand sponsorships are in jeopardy!" "Couldn't you just swallow your pride at the hospital today? Did you really have to humiliate everyone like this?" "I'm not apologizing." "You know better than anyone what I went through to get pregnant. And you let her publicly humiliate me?" "Are you completely blind, Brandon?" Without waiting for a response, I walked into the bedroom and locked the door behind me. Silence hung in the hallway for a few seconds before heavy knocks rattled the door. "Can you stop acting like a petulant child?" Brandon pounded on the wood, his voice thick with exhaustion. "Open the door. Running away won't fix anything. Let's just talk like adults."I stayed inside until late afternoon, when noise erupted outside the door again. Brandon’s tone had softened, laced with a layer of coaxing concern. "Grace, you haven't eaten a bite since yesterday. Your stomach can't take this." "Open the door, baby. Let's go out and get some good food. Stop punishing your own body, okay?" Rachel’s voice followed immediately, thick with fake tears. "It's all my fault, Grace. We're still best friends, aren't we?" "Please don't hurt yourself over this. Let me take you out to a nice dinner to make it up to you, okay?" Brandon let out a sigh. "See? Rachel is already willing to compromise." "Open the door. Let's talk this out." "Talk this out? How about you explain what's inside this first?" I let out a cold laugh, picked up the old phone packed with his dirty secrets, and swung the door wide open. A barrage of blinding camera flashes exploded directly in my face. Seven or eight creators wielding smartphones and LED ring lights had completely blockaded my hallway. Every single lens was shoved inches from my face. Rachel cowered behind the mob of influencers, playing the innocent victim. "Guys, please, don't crowd her so closely... My best friend is really sensitive..." Vicious taunts rained down upon me without mercy. "So this is the psycho who attacked someone? Looks decent on the outside, but completely rotten within!" "Orphan trash is always mentally deranged. They can't stand seeing anyone else happy!" "A born parasite. No wonder God cursed you with a barren womb!" Rage shook my entire body. "Who the hell invited you here? This is my private property! Get the fuck out of my house!" Brandon held up a hand, weakly blocking a few lenses. "Everyone, please stop filming. She grew up without parents, so she's always been overly defensive and emotionally volatile." "She acted impulsively today, but Rachel is generous enough not to press charges." "This is a private family matter we'll resolve behind closed doors. Please don't put Rachel in an awkward position." Gritting my teeth, I thrust the old phone high in the air, pointing the glowing screen straight at Rachel. "Isn't viral clout what you parasites want?" "Today, I'll let the whole damn world see what that precious 'ginger cat' you've been hiding really looks like!" The moment Brandon recognized the old phone, his face drained of all color. He knew better than anyone what was stored inside. "Give me that phone!" He lunged forward like a rabid animal. To bury his filthy truth, he threw all dignity out the window, grabbing my wrist and violently twisting it aside. The impact threw me off balance. My lower back slammed viciously against the sharp corner of the dining table, and I crashed hard onto the cold tile floor. A sharp, tearing agony ripped through the depths of my abdomen. The sudden violence stunned the crowd, plunging the hallway into dead silence. Brandon clutched the retrieved phone tightly against his chest, letting out a hidden sigh of relief. Rachel hooked her arm through Brandon’s, stepping forward to block his view of me. "Oh, Brandon, you know how she is. Every time you argue, she sits on the floor to play the victim." "Let's just leave her alone. That little orange kitten at home is throwing a fit and crying for his daddy!" "Everyone is starving, let's go grab dinner first!" Brandon’s attention was completely diverted. Pulled along by Rachel’s tug, he hurried toward the door, tossing a cold warning over his shoulder without looking back. "Stay here and cool your head. When you're ready to post that public apology, I'll come back." The front door slammed shut. The cacophony of footsteps faded down the hall. A warm, sticky liquid began to seep slowly down the inside of my pale thighs. Gasping through the blinding pain, I reached down, my trembling fingers coming away coated in a terrifying, vivid crimson. Staring at the thick pool of blood coating my hands, a horrific realization struck my brain like lightning. I was pregnant. The baby I had spent three agonizing years praying for had arrived at the worst possible moment. With the last ounce of my strength, I dialed 911: "Help me... please!"