Your pregnancy had progressed well. Marc stayed home more often and helped you with any problems that arose out of being pregnant. Marc had told you he had stopped texting and meeting that girl you had caught him texting a few weeks ago. He looked genuinely sorry and even offered to be your personal slave for a week to make up for it.

You forgave him quickly, quicker than you should have, and chose to bury the past. Your career as a musician had been slightly on hold due to your pregnancy. You wouldn't do a concert or tour for a while and your time in the booth at the studio was limited so as not to strain yourself. Martha still tried to get you to do as many interviews as possible but you declined most of them.

You could tell she was getting annoyed with you but you could care less. You reached the seventh month in your pregnancy. Your stomach continued to grow every day and with it your appetite. Marc kindly went out and bought your cravings and all the food you would need. He didn't like you driving especially with your stomach protruding as much as it did.

You argued for a minute but soon grew tired of it and just agreed with your husband. You continued to go to Barcelona games, not matter if Marc played or not. You enjoyed watching the games, finding them more fascinating than fashion shows or meetings with Martha. You grew close with Shakira, Gerard Piqué's girlfriend, and Antonella, Lionel Messi's wife. They usually brought their children who you found absolutely adorable.

You arrived at one game, making you way over to Antonella and Shakira. You greeted them before sitting down. "How's pregnancy?" Shakira asked.

"Oh you know, uncomfortable. I wish he would just get here already," you smiled, rubbing your tummy gently. Marc had taken to kissing it before games as good luck. You watched the game calmly, casually conversing with Shakira and Toni as you did so. Marc was starting this game because of injuries and that it was an easy team.

You cheered as Barcelona took the lead quickly with a header from Luis Suarez. Marc played great, stopping three shots from entering the box by challenging the opposing team's attackers quickly. The match ended 3-1 and you bid Shakira and Toni goodbye. Instead of walking through the exit with all of the paparazzi that the players would have to eventually leave through, you snuck out through a door next to the maintenance closet. It was used by WAGs that had small kids with them or were heavily pregnant, like you. You waited for Marc in the car.

He arrived soon after and you left without incident. You and Marc talked quietly on the way back. You were both exhausted, one from his job and you from being pregnant. Although pregnancy tired you out completely, you couldn't wait until your son got here. You arrived home and piled out of the car. You waddled up to the front door, unlocking it before stepping inside.

Marc was close behind you. You sat in a chair as Marc kicked of his shoes before taking off your own. "Thank you," you replied, standing up afterwards. Stretching, you bent your back backwards before waddling upstairs. Marc went into the kitchen to grab a snack and you walked into the bedroom alone. Laying down, you drifted off to sleep.

Around midnight, you woke up with an intense craving for rocky road ice cream. You hadn't had any in years but your stomach growled menacingly. You sat up in bed, trying to not disturb your husband. Your stomach had other ideas and its constant growling awoke Marc. "What is it, what's wrong?" he asked, groggily.

"Nothing, go back to sleep," you replied. Your stomach said otherwise.

"What are you craving now?" Marc asked, talking to your swollen belly.

"Rocky road ice cream," you sighed, ashamed that you had woken him up yet again with late night cravings.

"Be back in a few minutes," he stated, not even bothering to argue. He threw on a shirt before exiting your room. You smiled to yourself at how supportive Marc was of you during your pregnancy. Noticing his phone lying next to the bed, you grabbed it and called after your husband.

"Marc, you forgot your phone!" you shouted after your husband. He didn't reply and you assumed that he had already left. Sighing, you returned to bed. Trying to fall back asleep, your attempt was ruined by an incoming call. You checked your phone. It was Sergi. "Hello?" you asked.

"(Y/N), is Marc there?" he questioned.

"No, why?"

"I have something to tell you and you're probably not going to like it," Sergi sighed on the other side of the phone call. "Marc's been cheating on you."

"He has?" you replied, remembering the instance from a month ago.

"Yeah, with his ex-girlfriend, the one that dumped him before you guys started going out. They've been seeing each other these past few weeks. They even went on a date yesterday, right before the match, they met in the locker room when no one else was in there. I caught them once and Marc told me to cover for him. I did until the guilt gnawed me away. I'm sorry, (Y/N)."

You sat frozen in despair. "Yesterday?" you gasped, still not taking in the information fully.

"Yes," Sergi confirmed.

"T-t-thank you for telling me, Sergi. I'll take care of it," you replied, tears flooding over your eye lids.

"If you have any problems, let me know. I'm sorry I waited this long to tell you," he stated before hanging up. In disbelief, you reached over and grabbed Marc's phone. You went to his text messages and read his latest ones. Tears flowed freely as you read their texts from tonight, complete with a nude sent to Marc from her. You cried loudly as Marc reentered the room, rocky road ice cream in one hand, two spoons in the other.

"What's wrong?" he asked, rushing over to your side. He placed a hand on your shoulder. You snapped and slapped his hand away.

"Don't touch me," you snapped. Marc recoiled, confused. "How dare you! You told me you stopped talking to her! You lied to me! You promised!" you screamed, tears continuing to flow. You wiped them away angrily. Marc stood there, not even arguing. Guilt was written on his features. "You're not going to even deny it?" you snarled.

"(Y/N) . . ."

"Don't (Y/N) me! I trusted you! Hell, I even believed you were actually sorry. You made me look like a fool Marc, an absolute fool! You're so . . . GAH!" you shouted, pained.

"Please . . ." Marc sighed, taking your hand in his. You snatched it back, heading towards the door.

"Fool me once, shame on you. Fool me twice, shame on me. Fool me thrice, I'm an idiot," you growled, "and you're an asshole." You walked down the stairs.

"(Y/N), (Y/N) please!" Marc shouted, walking behind you. You ignored him, walking out the front door. There he stood, looking like the pathetic one for the first time ever. "Don't leave, it was a mistake. I'm sorry, please don't go."

You looked at your wedding band and engagement ring. Slipping both off, you handed them to Marc. "It was a mistake. But the cruel thing is, it feels like the mistake is mine for trusting you," you stated before opening the door to your car. Marc stood on the doorstep, watching you go with tears streaming down you face. You looked at him once more before focusing on the road and driving away. "He won't be the reason I cry anymore," you said to yourself, your tears drying as you drove away from all of your problems.