Male Pregnancy Fiction

My wife, Violet Miller, was obsessed with cleanliness. Yet I caught her peeling shrimp for a male intern at a dinner party. I demanded a divorce on the spot. Violet stared at me in disbelief. “Daniel is like a younger brother to me. What’s wrong with looking after him? Are you really divorcing me over this?” My heart ached. Maybe... it was time to let go.

The underprivileged student I've been sponsoring suddenly shows up at my birthday party, swaggering in and waving around a pregnancy report. "Look—Pheebs is pregnant with my baby! You'd better be smart and divorce her already!" I point at the report, stunned and confused. "Are you sure it's Phoebe who's pregnant with your child?" Victor Thompson, my beneficiary, smirks proudly as he fiddles with the pregnancy report. "Duh! We conceived the baby last month on our cruise trip!" The entire room falls into a stunned silence. My ex-wife, Phoebe Jackman, has been dead for three years.

I had been married to Natasha Bates for ten years, and not once did she ever join me for our family's Independence Day cookout. This year, on the night before the celebration, I finally gathered the courage to ask if she wanted to come. She scoffed and said, "What are you, stuck in the past? Who even celebrates the Fourth with a family dinner anymore?" Yet that very evening, I saw a social media post of Natasha with her male best friend, Stanley Rogers. They were quite intimate in the picture, and the caption read: [True happiness is celebrating Independence Day with your bestie!] I commented back: [Hope you two lovebirds make it official soon.] Stanley did not hold back. He messaged me a bunch of intimate photos of the two of them. Then, he added, [You're just a leech living off his wife. What right do you have to question anything about Nattie?] Everyone always thought I was a gold-digger living off Natasha's success. However, they all forgot that I was the sole major shareholder of the company. This time, I’m done staying silent.

On our seventh wedding anniversary, I was straddling my Mafia husband, Lucian, kissing him deeply. My fingers fumbled in the pocket of my expensive silk dress, searching for the pregnancy test I'd hidden there. I wanted to save the news of my unexpected pregnancy for the end of the evening. Lucian's right-hand man, Marco, asked with a suggestive smile in Italian: "Don, your new little canary, Sophia. How does she taste?" Lucian's mocking laughter vibrated through my chest, sending a chill down my spine. He replied, also in Italian: "Like an unripe peach. Fresh and tender." His hand was still caressing my waist, but his gaze was distant. "Just keep this between us. If my Donna finds out, I'm a dead man." His men chuckled knowingly, raising their glasses and swearing their silence. The warmth in my blood turned to ice, inch by inch. The one thing they didn’t know was that my grandmother was from Sicily, so I understood every word. I forced myself to remain calm, keeping the perfect smile of a Donna fixed in place, but the hand holding my champagne flute trembled. Instead of making a scene, I opened my phone, found the invitation I had received a few days ago for a private international medical research project, and tapped "Accept." In three days, I would disappear from Lucian's world completely.

After eight years of marriage, I finally get pregnant with Claude Frey's child. It's my sixth round of IVF, and my last chance. The doctor says I can't put my body through it again. I'm overjoyed, ready to share the good news with him. But a week before our anniversary, I received an anonymous photo in the mail. In it, he was bending down to kiss another woman's pregnant belly. That woman is his childhood sweetheart, the one his family watched grow up. She's gentle and well-mannered, and the kind of daughter-in-law every parent dreams of. The funniest part is that his entire family knows about her pregnancy, except me. I'm just the punchline in their joke. It turns out that the marriage I've been holding together despite all my wounds is nothing but a carefully crafted lie. Fine. I don't want Claude anymore, and I'll never let my child be born into a world built on lies. I book my ticket to leave on our eighth anniversary. It's also the very day he's supposed to take me to see the sea of roses. Before we got married, he promised me a sea of flowers all my own. But instead, I find him in front of the rose garden, kissing his pregnant childhood sweetheart. After I leave, he starts searching for me everywhere. "Don't go, please?" he begs. "I was wrong. Don't leave." He finally remembers the promise he'd made to me and plants the most beautiful roses in the world in that garden. But I don't need it anymore.

We’d been together for seven years, but during that entire time, my fiancée rejected the idea of getting married ninety-nine times, all because of a male intern. The first time, she canceled our vacation at the last minute, saying the intern was stuck on a night shift and afraid of the dark. She got on a flight that very night and rushed back to the hospital. The second time, we were already halfway through the doors of the courthouse to get our marriage registered. But just then, she got word that the intern had collapsed from exhaustion. Without a second thought, she left me standing alone in the snow for the entire day. After that, it became a pattern. Every time we were together, the intern would find some excuse to pull her away. Eventually, I made up my mind to let go. I stopped dreaming about a happy marriage with her. However, just when I announced I was transferring to another city, she broke down, begging me, almost hysterically, not to leave.

On the day I won the national esports championship, my girlfriend of eight years told me she wanted to go on stage and personally present me with flowers. Standing on the podium, my heart was racing. I reached into my pocket to pull out the ring I'd hidden there, ready to propose to her in front of the entire nation. But what happened next shocked me. She giggled and, instead of handing me the bouquet, she gave it to her male best friend. Under the bright lights, they became the center of attention. The crowd cheered, and their congratulatory messages flooded the trending topics. Even his fans tagged me in posts, mocking, [I told you not to get in the way of our couple, now look at you.] I simply posted on Twitter, [Respect and blessings. Please be locked together forever.]

Ten years ago, Natalia Cruz had walked out of Damien Carrington’s life as a young, broken, pregnant and helpless woman with nothing. But now, she is back as a top-tier lawyer, and she is back for revenge.

"You think you can just walk away?" he rasped. "Last night was a mistake," she shot back. "I don’t need you." He smirked, stepping closer. "That’s where you’re wrong, Squishy. You want revenge? You want Caleb and Isabella to suffer?" Elena’s pulse pounded. "Then let’s make a deal." **** Betrayed. Humiliated. Abandoned. After five years of marriage, Elena’s husband hands her divorce papers—right in front of his ex. Determined to move on, she drowns her sorrows in a bar… only to wake up next to a powerful stranger. Caspian Nightingale isn’t just any man—he’s her ex-husband’s ruthless uncle. And he has an offer: a one-year marriage contract. With his power, Elena can make her enemies pay. But as their deal turns into something dangerously real, she realizes one thing—Caspian always gets what he wants. And this time, he wants her.

Astraea was a normal girl with extremely simple and happy life. But everything is jeopardized when she met a mysterious guy. 𝑯𝒆 𝒘𝒂𝒔 𝒂 𝒌𝒊𝒏𝒈, 𝒘𝒊𝒕𝒉 𝒂 𝒉𝒆𝒂𝒓𝒕. 𝑩𝒖𝒕 𝒂𝒇𝒕𝒆𝒓 𝒉𝒆𝒓, 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒕𝒉𝒓𝒐𝒏𝒆 𝒘𝒂𝒔 𝒃𝒓𝒐𝒌𝒆𝒏. 𝑺𝒐 𝒎𝒖𝒄𝒉 𝒕𝒉𝒂𝒕 𝒂 𝒎𝒂𝒏 𝒘𝒊𝒕𝒉 𝒂 𝒉𝒆𝒂𝒓𝒕 𝒃𝒆𝒄𝒂𝒎𝒆 𝒂 𝒕𝒆𝒓𝒓𝒐𝒓. 𝑨 𝒕𝒚𝒓𝒂𝒏𝒏𝒊𝒄𝒂𝒍 𝒕𝒆𝒓𝒓𝒐𝒓, 𝒘𝒉𝒐 𝒘𝒂𝒍𝒌𝒆𝒅 𝒕𝒉𝒓𝒐𝒖𝒈𝒉 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒑𝒂𝒕𝒉𝒔 𝒐𝒇 𝒊𝒎𝒎𝒐𝒓𝒕𝒂𝒍𝒊𝒕𝒚. 𝑨 𝒑𝒂𝒕𝒉 𝒈𝒊𝒗𝒆𝒏 𝒃𝒚 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒐𝒏𝒆, 𝒉𝒆 𝒘𝒂𝒔 𝒍𝒐𝒗𝒆𝒅 𝒃𝒚. 𝑨 𝒑𝒂𝒕𝒉 𝒈𝒊𝒗𝒆𝒏 𝒃𝒚 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒐𝒏𝒆, 𝒘𝒉𝒐𝒎 𝒉𝒆 𝒍𝒐𝒔𝒕 𝒇𝒐𝒓𝒆𝒗𝒆𝒓 - I closed the book and a heavy sigh left my lips. I looked out of the library and there he was standing at the door. His arms flexed as his grip on the door tightened. He felt so close yet so far. And his eyes, his beautiful honey like eyes, it held a story. A mystery that seems to pull me towards him, no matter how much I resist. 𝐘𝐨𝐮 𝐤𝐧𝐨𝐰, 𝐭𝐫𝐮𝐞 𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞 𝐧𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐫 𝐝𝐢𝐞𝐬. 𝐈𝐭'𝐬 𝐚𝐥𝐰𝐚𝐲𝐬 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐞, 𝐥𝐮𝐫𝐤𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐢𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐝𝐞𝐞𝐩𝐞𝐬𝐭 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐝𝐚𝐫𝐤𝐞𝐬𝐭 𝐜𝐨𝐫𝐧𝐞𝐫𝐬 𝐨𝐟 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐭. 𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐨𝐧𝐥𝐲 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐨𝐧𝐞 𝐧𝐞𝐞𝐝𝐬 𝐢𝐬 𝐬𝐨𝐦𝐞𝐨𝐧𝐞 𝐚𝐬 𝐛𝐫𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭 𝐚𝐬 𝐚 𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐫 𝐭𝐨 𝐥𝐨𝐨𝐤 𝐢𝐧𝐭𝐨 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐥𝐢𝐤𝐞 𝐧𝐨 𝐨𝐧𝐞 𝐡𝐚𝐬. 𝐋𝐢𝐤𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐰𝐚𝐲 𝐬𝐡𝐞 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝 𝐦𝐞...