I Died, He Celebrated Her Fake Baby

On our fifth wedding anniversary, Reginald Dickerson booked every drone in the city for a light display in my honor.

That same night, he walked through our front door with a college girl who looked unsettlingly like me.

The girl's cheeks were flushed. She clutched an ultrasound printout so tightly her knuckles were white.

Reginald slipped off his suit jacket, then knelt down and personally swapped her shoes for my house slippers.

“Katherine's pregnant. It's a boy.”

My mind went blank. I stared at the girl's stomach, unable to move.