My Pregnant Wife Plots to Cuckold Me

"Once you have a break, let's go for a medical checkup together. If fate still allows me to become a mother, then you shouldn't stop me either, okay?"

Looking at the hopeful expression on my wife, Lauren White's, face, I felt my walls breaking down.

The crazy stories people posted online were other people's problems. The Lauren I knew would stop to feed a stray cat on the side of the road. There was no way she could be that cold-blooded woman in the post.

I accepted the warm mug of milk and drank it down in one go.

"We can get the checkup," I said, setting the empty mug down on the nightstand. "But let's agree on this—if the doctor still says your body can't handle the pregnancy, then you have to listen to me."

Lauren immediately relaxed and nestled into my arms. "Okay. I'll listen to you. I just don't want to live with regrets."

Three days later, we went to a private hospital downtown. Lauren said she'd managed to book an appointment with a well-known specialist.

After a round of blood tests, ultrasounds, and various other examinations, we sat in the waiting area for the results.

20 minutes later, a nurse approached carrying two reports. "Mr. and Mrs. Carter, your test results are ready. Dr. Johnson is waiting for you in his office."

I took the reports and instinctively looked through mine first. Having worked in the medical device industry for nearly a decade, I was fairly familiar with these test reports.

When my eyes landed on the semen analysis section, I froze.

"Sperm concentration: 8x10^6/ml. Progressively motile sperm: 5%. Conclusion: Severe asthenospermia."

Lauren leaned over and glanced at the page. Her eyes instantly reddened.

"Honey, what… What does this mean?" She covered her mouth as tears streamed down her face.

Dr. Johnson let out a heavy sigh. "Mr. Carter, your condition is quite serious. The odds of conceiving naturally are extremely low. Your wife's pregnancy is high-risk, but at this point, it may be your only chance to keep this child.

"If this pregnancy is terminated, the possibility of having another child could be extremely difficult."

Lauren burst into even louder sobs and clutched my arm tightly. "Honey, I'm not afraid of the risks. I'll do anything to bring this baby into the world for you! Even if it costs me my life, I can't let you lose your only chance to have a family."

Every tearful word of hers was filled with devotion.

Yet, as I stared at the report in my hands, my mind was unusually calm. Something was wrong.

The equipment listed on the report was a CX-9000. That machine happened to be one of my company's newest automated analyzers that had just been released the year before. As far as I knew, only the city's General Hospital had purchased one. This private hospital didn't own this machine.

On top of that, the reviewing physician's signature at the bottom belonged to a doctor named Howard Lane. If I recalled correctly, Howard was the head of urology at General Hospital. Why would he be signing off on lab reports issued by a private clinic?

I folded the report and slipped it back into the folder.

"Let's go home," I said calmly.

Lauren was stunned. "Honey, don't be upset. Medicine is so advanced these days. There must be a way."

She carefully studied my expression.

"I'm not upset." I met her gaze and added, "I'm just thinking that fate has a pretty twisted sense of humor."

Back at home, Lauren said she was feeling dizzy and went to lie down in the bedroom.

I sat alone on the living room couch, turned on my phone, and found that anonymous forum post again. It had been posted at 3:00 pm the day before.

The details in the post—low progesterone, poor HCG progression, and the gestational sac attached near old scar tissue—matched Lauren's situation perfectly. And that highly upvoted comment advising the poster to spike her husband's drink and fake an infertility diagnosis basically mirrored today's events almost exactly.

Could it be a coincidence? There was no such thing as a coincidence this perfect.

As my thoughts drifted back to the glass of milk from the night before, a bitterness rose in my throat.