My Baby Bump, His Biggest Regre

Six months after our breakup, my billionaire ex struts into the lingerie shop where I work, flaunting his brand-new fiancée. He slams a complicated, sheer lace set onto the counter with a smirk: “Why don't you try it on and model it for us? Oh wait, do they even make this in your size now that you're this fat?” His bride-to-be giggles right on cue. Adorable. He thinks I gained weight from crying into ice cream after he dumped me. He has no clue my baggy uniform is hiding a twenty-six-week baby bump—and it's his. Take your time shopping, Darian. The real price tag is coming.