A year after she blew-up my marriage, my best friend sent me an invite to her baby shower. Yes, I know this sounds too crazy to be true, but trust me, my life had indeed been one crazy ride from the start.
The invitation was a fancy one, with a hint of expensive perfume on it. It read, “Come celebrate our little miracle” in gold ink, and then in pink one, she wrote, “Sorry you couldn’t give him a son.”
I literally forgot how to breathe. It wasn’t because it hurt—I was beyond that—because the timing just seemed too perfect.
Right next to the invite, half-hidden under my coffee mug, was a small, stark white envelope from a DNA clinic. I ripped into it for what felt like the hundredth time, knowing each letter by heart – Daniel Mercer, congenital azoospermia, sterile from birth, not reduced fertility, not low sperm count, zero.
I let out an ugly laugh. Daniel had been manipulating me for six years, making me believe there was something wrong with my body. He had put me through countless hormone injections, embarrassing appointments with specialists, and invasive testing procedures. He would sit beside me, sighing at me with this air of disappointment and betrayal, like somehow I failed him as his wife.
Through all of it, Camille, my best friend, was also by mi side, the woman who was now carrying a child under my former last name.
What a joke.
When I caught them together a year ago, she cried her eyes out. “It just happened,” she said through sobbing. Daniel, on the other hand, didn’t even flinch. He wasn’t even embarrassed. And just like that, they got engaged some three months later.
And now, she was inviting me to a baby shower to celebrate a baby my ex-husband couldn’t possibly create. And trust me when I say it, that kind of delusion deserves its own audience, so I picked up my phone and called my lawyer.
The moment she answered the phone, Evelyn said, “Please tell me you’re not alone.”
“No, I have witnesses,” I said.
There was a pause, and then a sharp gasp.”Good.”
I asked for certified copies of everything – the fertility treatments, the audits, the divorce proceedings, even all of Daniel’s bank accounts that he believed I would never discover while I was too busy signing contracts for his family’s company. Camille’s fatal flaw was thinking that I was just a housewife.
No, I was the architect. Before Daniel acquired his undeserved riches, before Camille found out how easy it is to seduce an insecure rich man, I crafted the structure for Mercer Holdings which shielded them from lawsuits, taxes, and fraud. I knew where all the bodies were buried. Especially this one.
“I’ll be there,” I whispered into the phone. Then, I logged on ordered the gift.
The baby shower took place at the Mercer estate. I wore black, of course.
As soon as I entered the room, Camille noticed me. Her smile became strained, and she waltzed up to me, putting her hand over her stomach. “Naomi. Honestly, I didn’t expect you to come.”
“Oh, you knew I would.”
And Daniel was right next to her, wearing an expensive-looking outfit and putting his hand on a belly that belonged to somebody else.
“You look well,” he commented.
“You look fertile.”
I watched his jaw twitch. It was a small victory, yet a sweet one.
Those around us performed the ritual of pretending not to look, while studying every move we made with their intense gazes. Daniel’s mother was dispensing gossip by the fireplace with enough jewels sparkling around her neck to make her feel like royalty, and his father looked at me like an investment with the potential to go bad on him.
Camille leaned in close and spoke in a condescending whisper. “I understand how difficult this must be for you, Naomi. To see Daniel finally become a father.”
I lowered my gaze to her abdomen. “I think a number of people will be having a hard time today.”
The present table had been arranged near the windows at the ballroom. I found an ideal location for my blue box at the heart of the arrangement, nestled among cashmere blankets with monograms and silver rattles inscribed with “Baby Mercer”. How utterly ironic!
All in all, I only observed them do their thing. Daniel had to kiss Camille every single time they pulled up the camera phones. Camille was clearly living in the moment like a plant soaking the sun’s rays. Meanwhile, Alistair, Daniel’s brother, was standing near the open bar and looked like he was ready to puke anytime on the herringbone floor.
It was just a confirmation that he knew.
When he tried to exit to the hallway, I followed him. As soon as he saw me approaching, he started trembling in fear. “Naomi. Please.”
“Please what, Alistair?”
“It…it only happened once,” he sputtered, looking horrified.
I stared at him. “Congratulations then. It seems that one time was efficient.”
He recoiled like it hurt me physically. But he went into his excuses, saying that Camille had told him that Daniel knew about it—that there was an arrangement since Daniel needed an heir.
“Do you actually think she was telling the truth?”
He did not say anything else after that. He looked down at me, mumbled something about wanting to believe it because she said she loved him. And I was ready to laugh. She doesn’t love any man; she loves herself and being worshipped by them.
I took out a piece of paper I had folded inside my purse and threw it in his hands. “And what is this?”
“A notice of financial fraud,” I stated calmly, approaching him. “Your father’s business has been laundering money through your brother’s account for years. Also, during my divorce, many of my assets went missing—Camille assisted in their removal through her own boutique. Did you know about that?”
“No,” he said, breathing heavily. “I swear I didn’t.”
“Well, you know now.”
Within the ballroom, the clear sound of the fork tapping the champagne flute alerted us that it was gift-giving time. Alistair appeared visibly sick. I placed my hand on his arm but quickly turned to face the party guests again. “She chose the wrong person to mess with, Alistair.”
As Camille started tearing open gift after present, she grew ever more full of herself, while the compliments sent Daniel straightening his posture. But then she got to my gift—a blue-wrapped package, tied with a silver ribbon and no card at all.
The room was absolutely silent before she had even torn the ribbon.
“Oh, Naomi,” Camille simpered sweetly. “You really shouldn’t have.”
“Actually, I really think I should have.”
With trembling fingers, she tore off the lid, ripped away the tissue paper—and was paralyzed with shock. My gift to her? A beautifully framed DNA test result.
Daniel scowled, peering over her shoulder. “What the hell is this?”
In a move to slam the box shut, Camille lost grip of the lid entirely. Grabbing the photo out of her hands, Daniel examined the test result carefully. Then again. Every trace of color drained from his face.
“It means…” he whispered, his voice trembling. “…that I’m not the father.”
You can imagine the silence.
Camille jumped so suddenly out of her seat, screaming how it wasn’t true, how it was all a disgusting joke. I remained silent in my black dress, completely still. “It’s not fake, Camille, and Daniel’s medical records say he’s been sterile from birth.”
The room went wild. Daniel came rushing towards me, screaming at me for lying. But the doors to the ballroom opened, and in strode Evelyn, followed by two men dressed in dark business suits. She reminded Daniel that documented medical facts are incredibly difficult to sue over.
Camille’s perfect composure disappeared right then and there. She appeared vulnerable.
“Who the hell are you people?” Daniel’s father screamed.
“Forensic auditors,” Evelyn stated loudly, so everyone could hear her. “Along with the lawyers concerning the reopened divorce case and an investigation into the corporate fraud.”
And then, from the back of the room, came the voice of Alistair. “The baby is mine.”
Time stood still, everything went silent, including the background noise. Camille whirled around to face him, terror flashing across her features, but Alistair had snapped. He stepped forward, trembling, confessing to his brother that Camille had said everyone knew, it was all part of the family plan so that the baby would remain a Mercer.
Daniel stared at his brother like he was seeing a ghost. “You slept with my wife?”
Camille tried reaching for Daniel, clutching his arm, pleading with him to listen, but he pushed her away from him.
“I had no choice but to do what needed to be done! Your family needed an heir! It was all you ever cared about!” Camille said.
“A real one,” Daniel screamed.
Camille’s eyes then locked with mine, filled with nothing but malice. “You did this.”
My lips curled into a slight smile as I shook my head. “No, Camille. You did it to yourself. I just RSVP’d.”
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