Her Baby Was Not Mine

There was a moment of silence on the other end of the line. Christine Stott probably did not expect that I would ask her to leave the marriage with everything.

"Okay, I accept." Christine's voice was very low.

I smiled. "I'll hang up now."

After replying, I ended the call.

I glanced down at the document in my hand. The property certificate was supposed to be a surprise for her. I threw it into the drawer of the bedside table. Then I got up and went to the kitchen to pour myself a glass of water.

Christine said she would take responsibility of the baby she was carrying.

What about me?

I had been working hard to buy this house for three years. I was the first one in the office every morning and the last to leave every night. Once, I worked around the clock for three straight days on a project and ended up being carried to the hospital by my coworkers for an IV.

I drank myself into stomach bleeding at business dinners, spent a week in the hospital, and went back to work the day after I was discharged. I did not buy a new piece of clothing or go on a trip for three years just to keep my promise to her.

Where was she? She was on that man's bed. Then she sent me a message telling me she was pregnant with someone else's child.

I put the glass in the sink and turned around to walk back to the bedroom.

When I passed by the living room, I saw the wedding photo hanging on the wall. I was 26 years old and just starting to have a stable job. Christine wore a white wedding dress and told me that I would be the only one she loved for the rest of her life.

I believed her.

Looking back now, 26 was indeed too young—too young to believe that promises could actually be kept.

I went out onto the balcony and stood there for a while.

Every day at this time, I would stand here waiting for Christine to come home. Sometimes she would work late, and I would wait until her car headlights shone into the residential complex before I could finally go to sleep.

Now, it seemed ridiculous. I treated her like my whole world, but she only saw me as an option.

I went back to the bedroom and started doing the math.

I had a rough idea of ​​Christine's assets. She owned a design studio, with an annual profit of about two million dollars. She had an apartment in the Eastside District, the three-bedroom apartment we lived in now, and a car. Coupled with her savings and investments, it would not be less than eight million dollars.

I lay down on the bed and pulled the blanket up to my chin.

I suddenly remembered my mother-in-law, Jenny Longman, coming over last month and sitting on the couch, asking me, "You've been married for five years. Why don't you have children yet?"

Christine sat beside her without saying a word.

I smiled and poured coffee for her mother, saying it was my fault—I was too busy with work and wanted to work on my career for another two years.

Jenny sighed, saying Christine was not young anymore and it would be difficult to conceive later.

Back then, I thought I just needed a little more time to save some more money. Everything would be alright once I bought a house.

Now, that was no longer necessary.

How ironic. I had always felt guilty about not buying a house. In the end, Christine was already knocked up by someone else.

Now, I only had two things to think about. First, get the money. Second, start over.

Everything else was none of my business.