Good news: I’m pregnant. Bad news: I’m in the middle of a cold war with my husband. How do I tell Caleb Vance the news without losing my dignity? I turned to Reddit for advice, deciding to trust a user who claimed to have read romance novels for a decade. Step 1: The classic "Runaway Wife" trope. Step 2: Fake morning sickness at dinner. Step 3: Book an abortion appointment using his phone number... It was all going perfectly until Caleb lost his mind. That's when I realized: Wait... I think I took the joke too far. 1 So, here's the situation. I'm pregnant, and Caleb and I aren't speaking. I posted a picture of the positive test on r/relationship_advice with the title: How do I tell my husband I'm pregnant while we're fighting? Wrong answers only. The internet did not disappoint. Within an hour, I had thousands of comments. u/SavageQueen: Send him a pic of the test and say, "Baby's gone. Froze to death because of your cold shoulder." u/AnimeLover99: Look him in the eye and whisper: "I am not fighting alone." u/RomanceAddict: Five years later, return with quintuplets and dominate the social scene. I scrolled through the chaos, feeling grateful for the internet's unhinged energy. But one comment stood out. u/NovelExpert: Run away. Trust me, I've read romance novels for ten years. This is the only way. u/DramaLlama: Book an abortion at his family's hospital but put his number as the contact. Then sneak off to Seattle and work as a barista for half a day. u/SubtleChaos: At dinner, dry heave dramatically and then sprint to the bathroom. Works every time. These "experts" seemed trustworthy. I looked at my phone. Still no text from Caleb. Thinking of his cold, handsome face made me angry all over again. I blocked his number. Enjoy the silence, you giant idiot. I have a surprise for you. 2 Step one of the Runaway Wife plan: Pick a getaway car. I went down to the garage and chose Caleb's favorite matte black Bugatti. Sorry, Caleb. It's for the plot. To make it authentic, I waited until his busiest workday to peel out of the driveway. Driving a supercar with the top down, wind in my hair... this was the life. Caleb could go kick rocks. I drove straight to my best friend Faye's apartment. Lying on her sofa, I laid out my brilliant plan. Faye laughed so hard she nearly choked on her popcorn. "Chloe, are you serious?" she asked, wiping tears from her eyes. "What did our CEO do this time?" Okay, I admit our previous fights were petty. Like the time he forgot to buy me the new Hermès bag (I forgot to ask), or the time he ate spicy food next to me while I was on my period. But this time! This time it was 100% Caleb's fault. "Spill," Faye said, settling in. She's been watching the Caleb-and-Chloe show since college. She knows we're inseparable, so she treats our fights like prime-time entertainment. "Put down the chips, Sergeant Faye. This is serious." "Yes, General Chloe." The reason for this cold war was tragic. Truly heartbreaking. 3 Yesterday, after organizing my handbag collection, I decided to be a benevolent wife and visit Caleb in his study. I walked in quietly and stood behind his chair. He was on the phone, holding a photo in his hand. "Caleb!" I shouted, popping up over his shoulder. Usually, he'd pull me onto his lap and let me look at whatever boring contract he was reading. But this time, he jumped. He shoved the photo into a drawer and slammed it shut. "Caleb, what are you hiding?" His eyes darted around, avoiding mine. For a man who negotiates billion-dollar deals, he looked incredibly guilty. "Nothing. Just... trash." "Liar," I said. He was tapping his finger on the desk—his tell. I reached for the drawer. "It's nothing, I said!" He grabbed my wrist, stopping me. He locked the drawer and pocketed the key. "What can't you tell me?" I asked, feeling a sting of betrayal. Even when his company was in crisis, he let me play with confidential files like they were coloring books. He wouldn't answer. I got agitated and tried to grab the key. In the struggle, I tripped. Caleb caught me before I hit the floor, but instead of asking if I was okay, he snapped. "Chloe, when are you going to stop acting like a child?" His voice was cold, sharp with anger. I froze. I glared at him. "If you can't stand me, Caleb, then divorce me." I stormed out. He didn't follow. Men. I wasn't going to cry over him. I packed a bag and moved into the guest room. But lying on the silk sheets, the tears came anyway. Because I saw the photo. It was an old, frayed picture of a woman. And that woman looked exactly like me. 4 Faye slammed her hand on the sofa. "So he's cheating? With a doppelganger?!" She looked ready to murder him. "Relax," I said calmly. "Stop acting." She deflated. "Fine. But if he hurts you, I'm team Chloe all the way." "So, I'm doing the 'Runaway Wife with a Secret Baby' plot." Faye raised both hands. "I support this chaos." Just then, my phone started blowing up. It was Liam, Caleb's assistant. Caleb was definitely making him call. Why didn't Caleb call himself? Because I blocked him. Hang up. Block. Liam got the same treatment. Meanwhile, in a black Bentley across town, Caleb Vance stared at his assistant with a face like thunder. "Sir... she hung up." "Call again." "She... blocked me." Caleb let out a dark laugh. He had gone home to find the house looked like it had been raided. Chloe's closet was empty. His clothes were thrown on the floor. And his favorite car was missing. He knew exactly who the culprit was. I touched my face and smiled. Don't praise me, I'll get an ego. Outside, the rain started pouring. A classic romance novel trope. Caleb stood outside Faye's apartment building. He knocked on the door. "Chloe. Open up." I ignored him, sitting on the shoe bench in the entryway, arms crossed. But then... beep, beep, beep, click. The door opened. Caleb had the code. 5 The door swung open, revealing Caleb’s sharp, angry face. His dark eyes locked onto mine. I whipped my head around to glare at Faye. "Traitor!" Faye grinned sheepishly and retreated to her room. Caleb marched in, scooped me up from the bench, and turned to leave. "Caleb, put me down! I'm not going back!" I grabbed the doorframe. "Chloe, stop making a scene." "Let me explain." "I don't want to hear it!" I yelled, struggling. "Go away!" Caleb stopped. He didn't put me down, but he didn't move. So, no explanation? Just silence? I looked at the face I had loved for years. Was he just tolerating me all this time? Did he think my feelings were just "scenes"? Caleb looked down at my sad face. Suddenly, he shoved his phone in front of me. On the screen was a photo of the "Princess," a luxury yacht docked in the harbor. The one I had been drooling over for months. "Princess Chloe. I bought the boat." I froze. My eyes glued to the screen. 180 million dollars. My boat. Okay, Caleb had his moments. I took the phone, grinning like an idiot. "Chloe," he said, taking the phone back. "Can you listen now?" I nodded, eyes still tracking the phone. "The photo I hid... it was a candidate for a new marketing campaign. She looked like you. I didn't know her, but I panicked because I thought you'd misunderstand." A flimsy excuse. But... But there was a yacht. And honestly, I never really believed Caleb would cheat. I just wanted to be dramatic. (And I wanted the boat.) "Fine," I said. "Let's go." But I wasn't done with him yet. 6 We went home. Faye leaned against her doorframe, watching Caleb carry my bags. "Why did you do all that just to leave two hours later?" "I'm going home," I said loud enough for Caleb to hear. "I haven't forgiven him." I was starving. I had the chef make dinner and prepared for Step 2. We sat in silence. I ignored Caleb completely. "Ugh..." I put down my fork, covered my mouth, and ran to the bathroom. I thought my performance was Oscar-worthy. But Caleb didn't take the bait! He followed me, looking concerned but clueless. "Chloe, what did you eat? Did you sneak spicy food again?" What? This didn't follow the script! Has this man never seen a soap opera? Useless. I rolled my eyes at him. Whatever. I had more tricks. I "dry heaved" a few more times that night. Caleb just kept asking if I had food poisoning. Does he think I'm a glutton? I haven't had junk food since I found out I was pregnant! He is so stupid. The next day, while Caleb was at work, I decided to escalate. To save face, I had to go nuclear. I booked an appointment at the Vance Family Private Hospital. For an abortion. And I put Caleb's phone number as the emergency contact. I sat outside the operating room and hit "Confirm Appointment." The confirmation text should be hitting his phone right about... now. I laughed to myself. Genius. Then I posted a Moment on WeChat, visible only to him: [Baby, it's not that Mommy doesn't love you... but I can't bring you into a loveless home.] Attached was a photo of my ultrasound. Sure enough, Caleb went insane.
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