Eight months pregnant with the miracle baby doctors said i’d never have, i watched my husband walk into my baby shower hand in hand with his twenty-two-year-old mistress.

At exactly 1:59 p.m., I was lying face-first in my own baby shower cake while silver balloons drifted across the floor around me.

Only moments earlier, I had been standing beside a tower of cupcakes arranged to spell:

WELCOME BABY HUNTER.

Then a violent burst of pain ripped through my body as I was thrown backward into shattered decorations, torn wrapping continue reading …