‘My boyfriend was sleeping with another woman while I was in labour'

Weaving my way through the packed nightclub, I headed for the bar. A man next to me looked me up and down. “Your eyebrows are too big,” he said. “What a cheek!” I thought, fuming. But before I could open my mouth to tell him I was going for a Cara Delevingne look, he walked off.
I forgot all about him until I spotted a tall, good-looking guy a couple of weeks later in the same club. It took a moment before I realised who he was.
He marched over, but before I could say a word he grinned. “I’m Steven and you’re staying with me,” he said with a wink. I just melted and found myself saying, “OK then.”
Steven Lee and I started chatting and it turned out he wasn’t rude. He was really funny.
Before long we were a couple, even though at 27 he was 10 years older than me. We set up home together and life was great, until two months later I started to feel unwell and exhausted all the time.
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“Maybe you’re pregnant,” my mum Nicola, 53, said. A test confirmed it. I was in absolute shock, but Steven was excited. He pampered me while I was pregnant and was with me as I went into labour. But at the hospital things started to go wrong. As doctors and nurses rushed around me, I passed out.
When I came round, Steven was next to me holding our baby boy in his arms. He looked terrified. “You almost died,” he said. “We were so scared.” He told me how I’d haemorrhaged during the birth and needed four blood transfusions to save my life.
Back at home, Steven looked after me and our baby, who we named Steven Jnr. He was great, but as soon as I was strong enough, I took over the nappy changes, feeds and baths.
I was so busy looking after little Steven that I hardly noticed his dad wasn’t around as much. Then one day he went out and didn’t come back for two days. “Where have you been?” I demanded when he finally turned up. “I was staying with friends,” he said. “I would’ve called, but my phone died.”
I wasn’t sure I believed him, but something had happened to take my mind off my doubts. On my 20th birthday in October 2015, I got a brilliant present – I was pregnant again. We discovered we were expecting a girl. Steven Jnr was just over a year old by now and I started sorting through his things so I could sell them and buy new ones for the baby.
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His buggy was too small for him, but it would be too big for a newborn. It was still worth quite a bit so I put it up for a sale on a local buy and sell Facebook page.
A woman named Julie* got in touch and ended up coming over to our place with her boyfriend to take a look. “I’ll have it,” she said.
She handed over £100 and left, but a few days later Steven found some spare parts for it. “I’ll see if Julie wants them,” I said, messaging her. Julie did, so Steven went to meet her to give her the parts.
A few days later, I was scrolling through Facebook when I saw that Julie had liked one of Steven’s posts. He’d posted a quote about being loyal to your woman and Julie had put two laughing emojis underneath. I prickled. “What’s that supposed to mean?” I asked him.
He looked confused. “She’s just being friendly after we sold her the pram,” he said. But whenever he posted a comment, Julie would respond. I knew something wasn’t right, but Steven insisted it was nothing. “You’re being paranoid,” he told me.
GROWING SUSPICIONS
A week before my due date, I was craving some sweets so he popped to the shops to get some for me. He didn’t come home. Hours went by and I started to feel cross. I couldn’t believe Steven had vanished so close to my due date. Then I felt a twinge. There was no sign of Steven so I called the midwife who explained I was in slow labour. “You have a while to go,” she said, “But call me when your contractions get more frequent.”
I rang Steven, but he didn’t answer, so I texted him. “I’m having the baby.” No reply.
Frustrated, I went to stay with Mum so she could help with Steven Jnr. The next morning my contractions were much stronger so I popped back home with my stepdad John to pick up my hospital bag. But as I walked through the front door, I heard Steven running across the bedroom floor. He appeared at the top of the stairs looking flustered. “Where have you been?” I demanded. He looked sheepish.
“I met some friends for a drink,” he said. I didn’t have the energy to argue. “I’m going to see the midwife now,” I said. “Will you look after Steven?”
He was still at the top of the stairs. “No problem,” he smiled. “Now off you go, you don’t want to be late.”
John and I set off, but on the way to see the midwife and pick up my notes, it dawned on me that Steven had seemed very keen to get me out of the house. I wondered why and then a ...