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Hoping for a second child, my husband Osbert Foster held me close night after night. He said, "Astrid, let's have a girl." When the pregnancy test came back positive, he celebrated by filling the entire city skyline with fireworks. But four months later, a woman I had never met struck me across the face in the middle of a mall. "You shameless mistress. I finally caught you," she spat. Her glare dropped to my gently swelling stomach. She added, "You already had one bastard, and now you're carrying another?" I instinctively shielded my belly, panic rising, I asked, "What are you talking about? I'm legally married!"