What no one in that room knew was that the pregnancy itself was not the scandal because the real truth was far worse, and I had proof hidden safely away.
Victoria let the silence stretch, enjoying the whispers, before adding softly, “We all make mistakes, and some of us just make bigger ones than others.”
Mistakes was the word she chose, as if it were something small and harmless instead of months of betrayal that had shattered everything I trusted.
Three months earlier, at exactly 2:07 in the morning, Victoria had called me crying so violently that I thought someone had died.
“You can’t tell anyone,” she had begged through broken sobs, her voice shaking with panic, “please, Megan, you don’t understand what this would do.”
At that moment, I already understood more than she realized because the night before I had discovered everything.
I had been standing in my apartment kitchen while my boyfriend Tyler Scott showered down the hall when his phone lit up beside me on the counter.
I glanced at it without thinking, and Victoria’s name appeared with a message preview that froze my blood.
“After the wedding, we won’t have to sneak anymore.”