We'd been married for three years when I saw a message from a college student named Adara Thorne on my husband Randall Scott's phone. Adara: Randy, if she gets pregnant, are you gonna leave our baby and me? My normally calm and rational husband had sent her a cute kissing emoji in reply. Something inside me snapped instantly. It was clear—the three-year relationship I'd fought so hard to keep alive was finally over. ***** Adara: Randy, if she gets pregnant, are you gonna leave our baby and me? I'd bent down to pick up his underwear, but froze the moment I saw the message on his screen. Today was my ovulation day. It was the only chance I had to be intimate with Randall. He was in the shower, but his phone held messages from another woman. I unlocked his phone without thinking. A young girl's profile picture stared back at me. She looked innocent, with a bright, bold smile—full of youthful energy and carefreeness. One cute emoji in their chat caught my eye. It wasn't sent by her, but by Randall. A dull, heavy ache settled in my chest. Randall had always called himself a straightforward guy. In three years, he'd never given me a single rose. It turned out he could be romantic—just not with me. My fingers trembled as I scrolled up. I read every message between him and Adara. She called him Randy affectionately. She'd asked him to pick her up after class. They'd even eaten authentic Buffalo wings together. In a few scattered photos, the girl wore workout clothes. She smiled brightly, sweat glistening on her forehead, and her hand rested casually on his neck. My breath grew quicker with every photo I swiped past. Randall was well-known for being a clean freak; he hated being touched by anyone. It had taken me three full years to get him to let me near him at all. Randall disliked spicy food. He said he hated feeling sweaty and messy, and he hated sticky skin. So even though I loved spicy food, I'd always cooked mild dishes for him. Yet in the photos, he hugged the sweaty girl willingly. He couldn't stand spice, but he'd eaten spicy wings with her. I realized the truth. It wasn't that he hated touch or spicy food. He just hated me. I forced a smile, but my eyes stung bitterly. This girl was pregnant. She was carrying Randall's child. And one word from Randall dealt me the final blow. Randall: No. Attached was that same cute kissing emoji I'd seen first. We'd been married three years. I'd never checked his phone before—not out of trust, but because I knew I didn't have the right. I'd thought I would break down, scream, or throw things.