One month before the wedding, my fiancée, Diana, insisted on having a child withher childhood sweetheart.I didn't agree. But she kept bringing it up, day after day, cornering me likeshe was negotiating a business deal that had to close.Then, two weeks before the big day, I received an anonymous package.It was a pregnancy report from a private clinic on the Upper East Side.It stated clearly: Diana. Five weeks and three days pregnant.In that instant, I realized she had never cared what I thought. She had alreadymade her choice; she was just "notifying" me, her official fiancé.I sat in front of the floor-to-ceiling window of our apartment, watching thecity lights, a cold chill settled in my bones.The next day, I canceled the venue, tore up the invitations, and burned everygift she had ever bought me.On our wedding day, I didn't show up. Instead, I boarded a flight to Milan aloneto join the International Medical Center and begin my career in clinicalresearch.From that momen
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