I took a deep breath, trying to steady my trembling hands. My husband’s face was a storm of emotions—anger, betrayal, disbelief.
“You have every right to be upset,” I said, my voice barely above a whisper. “But before you say another word, you need to know the truth.”
His jaw clenched. “The truth? The truth is that you cheated on me and got pregnant, and now you’re trying to play innocent.”
I shook my head. “No. The truth is that you can have kids.”
He froze. The color drained from his face. “That’s impossible.”
“It’s not,” I said, my eyes locked onto his. “The doctors you saw all those years ago made a mistake. You were misdiagnosed. I went to your old clinic and pulled your records after you told me you were infertile. They ran the wrong tests. You never had the condition they said you did.”
His mouth opened slightly, but no words came out. I could see the war raging inside him—the desperate hope clashing with the belief he had held for years.
“You’re lying,” he finally whispered, but his voice lacked conviction.
I reached into my purse, my heart pounding, and pulled out the papers I had been carrying for weeks. “This is your corrected medical report. I got a second opinion. You can read it yourself.”
He snatched the documents from my hand and scanned them, his hands shaking. His breathing quickened as his eyes darted across the page. And then, slowly, he sank onto the couch, his expression unreadable.
“I… I don’t understand,” he muttered. “All these years…”
Tears welled in my eyes. “I didn’t know how to tell you. I wanted to be sure before I said anything.”
His head snapped up, anger flashing in his eyes again. “And you thought springing it on me like this was the best way?”
I sighed. “No, of course not. But you didn’t give me the chance, did you? You sent me a cake announcing our divorce before even speaking to me. You humiliated me in front of my colleagues. You assumed the worst.”
Regret flickered across his face, but he was too proud to admit it outright. He rubbed his temples, exhaling sharply. “So, the baby is mine?”
I nodded. “Yes. Yours.”
A long silence stretched between us. I watched as his walls crumbled, as realization dawned upon him. He had spent years believing he was incapable of fathering a child, and now, in an instant, everything had changed.
“I was so sure,” he whispered. “I was so sure I couldn’t… that we couldn’t…”
I placed a hand on his knee, and for the first time that evening, he didn’t pull away. “I know.”
Tears welled in his eyes, though he blinked them away quickly. “I messed up,” he admitted finally, his voice raw. “I should have talked to you first. I was just so angry… so convinced that you had betrayed me.”
I gave him a sad smile. “I understand why you thought that. But I need to know something, too.”
He met my gaze hesitantly. “What?”
“Were you really going to divorce me?”
He swallowed hard, glancing away. “I don’t know. Maybe in the heat of the moment, I thought so. But the second I sent that cake, I regretted it. I wanted to take it back.”
I nodded slowly. “And now?”
He reached for my hand, gripping it tightly. “Now, I know I don’t want to lose you. I want to make this right—if you’ll let me.”
Tears finally spilled down my cheeks as I let out a shaky breath. “We have a lot to work through.”
He squeezed my hand. “I know. But I want to try. For us. For the baby.”
For the first time that night, I allowed myself to believe that maybe, just maybe, we could find our way back to each other. It wouldn’t be easy, but love, real love, was worth fighting for.
And as I placed his hand over my stomach, letting him feel the life growing inside me, I saw it—the spark of hope in his eyes. A future we had never thought possible now lay before us, and for the first time in a long while, we were ready to face it together.