Husband Steals My Breast Milk

I was pumping milk with one hand while scrolling through DoorDash with the other, trying to order some bone broth.

Two delivery addresses popped up.

One was my home, Unit 602.

The other was labeled Babe's Place, Unit 1703.

Same apartment complex, same building.

I thought it was a glitch in the app, so I clicked on the order history.

Nine orders in one week, all sent to 1703.

Salmon soup, brown sugar oatmeal, papaya smoothies.

Everything on the list was meant to boost breast milk production.

During my postpartum month, my husband claimed he was working late until 11 PM every night.

The history showed the latest order reached 1703 at 11:03 PM.

The delivery note read: "Please knock softly, the baby just fell asleep."

The baby.

My daughter was only nineteen days old.

The one upstairsDhow old were they?

I closed the app as I heard the sound of a key turning in the lock.

The first thing Caleb did when he walked in was check his phone. He didn't even look at me first.

"Did you drink the bone broth I made?" he asked.

I told him I did.

He set a bag of oranges on the table.

Tucked under the bag was a receipt from the baby store downstairs for two cans of formula.

My daughter had been exclusively breastfed since the day she was born.

I forced a smile and began arranging the oranges in a fruit bowl one by one.

I couldn't sleep that night.

It wasn't because the baby was fussy; it was because I couldn't get that delivery note out of my head.

"Knock softly, the baby just fell asleep."

At 2 AM, my daughter started crying again.

I lifted my shirt to nurse her. My stitches hadn't fully healed yet. It hurt to sit, and it hurt to lie down.

Caleb was sleeping in the guest room.

He said he didn't want his snoring to wake the baby during my recovery month.

At the time, I thought he was being sweet.

Now I realized that with the guest room door shut tight, I had no idea who he was texting in the middle of the night.

After nursing, I tucked the baby back into her crib and crept into the living room.

I opened his DoorDash app.

The password was my birthday. He hadn't bothered to change it.

The orders for Unit 1703 were even more frequent than I thought.

The earliest one was placed twenty-six days ago.

My daughter was born thirty-three days ago.

That meant only a week after our daughter was born, he started ordering food for the woman upstairs.

I scrolled down further.

One note caught my eye: "No onions in the soup, please."

I took a deep breath and put the phone back exactly where I found it.

The next morning, Caleb kissed our daughter's forehead before heading out.

"My mom said she's coming over to help you for a few hours. Get some rest."

I nodded. "Okay."

After he left, I stood on the balcony and counted the floors.

From the sixth floor to the seventeenth, it was an eleven-story gap.

The elevator would take forty seconds at most.

I etched that number into my mind.

At 10 AM, my mother-in-law, Martha, arrived.

She checked the kitchen first. "Finished the soup? I'll wash the pot."

Before she left, she opened the fridge and took out the breast milk I had pumped and stored in bags the night before.

"I'll take these with me. I'll put them in the deep freezer at my place. Your fridge is too small."

In the past, I wouldn't have thought twice about it.

But now, every word felt like a needle prick.

I watched her back as she walked toward the door with my milk.

"Mom," I called out suddenly. "Which freezer are you putting those in?"

She paused for a second.

"Just the big one at my house. I cleared a whole shelf just for you."

She didn't turn around.

After the door clicked shut, I stood there for a long time.

Then I picked up the phone and called the baby store downstairs.

"Hi, I'd like to check a recent purchase for two cans of formula. The name is Caleb Reed."

The clerk checked the system. "Found it. It was the Gold Label, Stage 3."

Stage 3.

That was for toddlers aged one to three.

My daughter was nineteen days old; she would need Stage 1.

Stage 3 was for a child who was at least a year old.

I hung up the phone.

My hands weren't shaking.

But my milk started to leak, soaking two wet circles through the front of my shirt.

For the next three days, I said nothing. I asked nothing.

I nursed the baby, I drank the soup, and I played the part.

Caleb came home at 11 PM sharp every night, checking his phone first, then me.

Every time, I smiled and told him the soup was great.

On the fourth day, while Martha was watching the baby, I told her I needed some fresh air.

I took the elevator to the seventeenth floor.

Outside the door of Unit 1703, there was a pair of mens slippers.

Grey, size eleven.

They were identical to the ones Caleb wore at home.

There was a cartoon sticker on the doorDa little bear that said Babys Room.

I didn't knock.

But I heard a baby crying inside.

No, it wasn't a newborn.

It was the cry of a child at least seven or eight months old. I heard a womans voice comforting him.

Don't cry, sweetie. Daddy will be home tonight.

Daddy.

I leaned against the wall, slowly making my way back to the elevator.

I pressed the button for the sixth floor.

When the doors closed, I saw my reflection in the mirror.

I hadn't washed my hair in days. My eyes were sunken and dark.

I looked like a ghost.

When I got home, Martha was changing my daughters diaper.

She didn't even look up. I took two more bags of milk. Ill take them when I leave.

I asked casually, Mom, do you know the neighbors on the seventeenth floor?

Her hands twitched for a split second.

Just a split second.

Then she continued fastening the diaper. No. We don't live on that floor. Why would I know them?

Oh, I said. I just saw a woman with a baby in the elevator. She looked familiar. Just wondering.

Martha didn't reply.

But when she left, she took an extra bag of milk with her.

That night, Caleb came home earlier than usual, around 9:30 PM.

He brought a box of organic strawberries, saying a colleague gave them to him.

He washed a few and held them out to me. Are they sweet?

I took a bite. Very sweet.

He grinned and went to take a shower.

I heard the water running.

I picked up his phone from the coffee table.

The top pinned contact on his WhatsApp was Client - Mr. Miller.

I opened the chat.

The latest message was sent four minutes ago.

Babe, I couldn't bring myself to eat the strawberries. I saved them all for you. Ill bring them up tomorrow.

Attached was a photo.

It was a box of strawberries.

Identical to the ones I was eating.

I exited the app and put the phone back.

When he came out of the shower, I was quietly eating my second strawberry.

Good? he asked, drying his hair.

Yeah, I said. Incredibly sweet.

I started paying attention to every detail.

I had the password to Calebs main bank account, but I found out he had opened a new one six months ago.

He kept the secondary phone for that account in his car.

I knew because he forgot to lock the car once, and I saw the screen light up when I was taking out the trash.

I didn't touch it yet.

First, I checked the real estate records.

Unit 1703. I looked up the owner info through a friend in management.

The registered owner was Caleb Reed.

The purchase date was fourteen months ago.

I was three months pregnant back then.

He told me his bonus was small that month and asked me to be frugal.

I even gave him my own debit card, saying we should pool our money for the babys expenses.

Fourteen months.

While I was waiting for him on the sixth floor with a heavy belly, he was furnishing a whole other life on the seventeenth.

The second discovery was even more suffocating.

Those milk bags Martha took every day? They weren't in her freezer.

I went to her house and checked. Her freezer was packed with frozen pizzas and ice cream. Not a single drop of milk.

I didn't have to guess where that milk was going.

Martha knew about 1703.

She wasn't just keeping a secret; she was an accomplice.

I found a way to see the deleted media in the Mr. Miller chat on Calebs cloud backup.

There was a message from the woman:

Mom brought more milk today. The baby loves it. Its so much better than formula.

Mom.

She called my mother-in-law Mom.

I sat on the bathroom floor and covered my mouth to keep from screaming.

I wasn't crying.

I was nauseous.

During my first weeks, my breasts were so engorged I ran a fever. I had to pump until my nipples bled.

All that liquid gold was being hand-delivered by Martha to feed another womans son.

I sat there for ten minutes, then stood up and washed my face.

I sent a text to my best friend from college, Harlow.

She was a high-powered divorce attorney.

Harlow, I need to file for divorce. Infidelity, hidden assets, and home purchases using marital funds. Im still nursing. How do we play this?

She replied instantly: Youll win everything. But you need ironclad evidence. Don't let him smell a thing.

I won't, I replied.

From that day on, I took my recovery very seriously.

I ate, I rested, I nursed, and I built my strength.

I finished every drop of soup they gave me.

I needed the energy for what was coming.

My daughters one-month celebration was in eleven days.

Caleb said he wanted to throw a huge, lavish party.

Fine.

Lets make it a night to remember.

A week before the party.

Caleb became unusually attentive.

He personally confirmed the ballroom, the menu, and the party favors. He even picked out the floral arrangements himself.

Our daughters one-month party has to be perfect, he said.

His eyes were bright when he said it.

I almost believed him.

Until I found the secondary phone in his car again and listened to a voice note he sent to Mr. Miller.

I put on my headphones and hit play.

Babe, everyone will be at the hotel for the party. Ill leave the spare key on top of the shoe rack. Bring our son down to stay in Unit 602 for a few days. Its bigger than your place. Let him enjoy the extra space.

He was planning to move his mistress and secret son into my home while I was celebrating my daughters birth.

My fingertips went cold.

I kept scrolling.

I found a message Martha sent to a group chat called The Family.

Members: Caleb, Martha, and a woman named Skylar.

Marthas voice note was long and casual, like she was just chatting about the weather:

Skylar, honey, don't worry. Once this party is over, Ill tell Arthur were coming clean. Caleb is going to divorce that woman anyway. A daughter is useless to our legacy. Well get Unit 602 transferred to Calebs name, and then you and the kids can move in officially.

A daughter is useless.

She was talking about my baby.

I listened to that clip three times.

Each time felt like a blade twisting in my chest.

But I didn't shed a single tear.

I copied every screenshot, every recording, every property deed, and every bank transfer onto a thumb drive. I made three copies.

One went to Harlow. One went into my office locker. One was hidden in my daughters diaper bag.

Then I made a phone call.

Hi, about the projector setup for the party... can it play files from a USB drive?

Yes, ma'am.

Great. Ill bring a drive on the day of the event. I have a special video for my husband.

I hung up and walked to the balcony.

Down in the complex garden, a woman was pushing a stroller.

She looked up for a second.

I couldn't tell if she was looking at the sixth floor or the seventeenth.

But I saw her face clearly.

She was young, maybe twenty-two or twenty-three.

The baby in her arms was wearing a blue onesie.

It had a little bear on it.

Exactly like the sticker on the door of 1703.

The party was the day after tomorrow.

Caleb posted on Facebook, a gallery of party prep photos. His caption: My little princess, Daddy will love you forever.

It got over ninety likes.

I liked it too.

Then I picked up my daughter and pressed my cheek against her soft skin.

Baby, I whispered. Mommy is taking you to a show.