Male Pregnancy Fiction Novels & Stories

My CEO wife, Vivian Lynch, suffers from chronic insomnia and can only fall asleep with the pillow mists I make. At our seventh wedding anniversary dinner, her male best friend, Earl Cain, pours a basin of hot water onto the old cypress tree in the backyard. I rush to save the tree in tears. Earl gets on his knees and apologizes, "I'm sorry, Allen. I did not know that you use this tree's leaves to make the pillow mists." Vivian comforts him gently and orders her men to tie me to the trunk of the tree. She says with a scoff, "If this tree is so precious, then you can spend your life guarding it!" After I hurt my hands from this ordeal, the first thing I do is to demand a divorce. On one night a month later, Vivian, who is unable to sleep, goes to the backyard and sees the withered old cypress tree there.

My husband has a dangerous condition - Jacob's syndrome, a rare genetic disorder where men carry an extra Y chromosome (XYY). But it's not just the genetics - he has an uncontrollable rage that turns him into a monster. It all started when I saved his life. After that, he became obsessed with me, relentlessly pursuing me for three years. He deliberately ran his car into my childhood sweetheart, leaving him permanently disabled. Then he threatened to kill my entire family unless I married him. For seven years after our marriage, his controlling behavior became pathological. He even had a tracking chip implanted in my body and completely controlled my freedom. Yet at the same time, he showered me with endless love and catered to my every wish. When my mother-in-law pointed her finger at me while speaking, he snapped it without hesitation. When my sister-in-law's child disturbed my afternoon nap, he threw them both out of the house and severed all family ties. I refused to have a child, terrified of what darkness might be passed down, so he invested his entire fortune into developing cutting-edge genetic screening technology, making it possible for me to conceive a healthy baby. But on the very day I discovered I was pregnant... My mother-in-law stormed into our home with a group of people, accusing me of having an affair and carrying another man's child. They beat me until I lost the baby. As I lay there barely clinging to life, my husband finally arrived. My mother-in-law thrust a doctored video in his face and said, "Troy! Your wife had an affair and got pregnant with another man's child. Look, here's the proof!"

At another Sunday dinner at the Bellandi estate, Luca Bellandi's assistant, Ava Marino, was sitting in my seat. It was the first chair to Luca's right at the long walnut table, the seat everyone in Chicago's underworld knew belonged to Mrs. Bellandi. Ava sat there as if she had been born into it, her pale wrist brushing Luca's sleeve while she poured his wine. I stood in the doorway and looked at him. "She's in my seat. You don't have anything to say?" Luca raised his eyes. "You were late. Don't blame someone else for sitting down first. There are empty chairs over there. Sit if you want. If not, get out." The dining room went dead quiet, and before I could answer, his thoughts slipped into my ears. [Vivi, don't go. Come sit beside me. Tell them it's your seat. Tell me you still want to be my wife.] [Please get mad. Please care. Say you need me, and I'll give you the whole world.] In the past, those soft, trembling thoughts would have been enough. I would've swallowed the insult and stayed beside him like a loyal dog that didn't know when to leave. This time, I didn't. I slipped the wedding ring off my finger and laid it on the table. "If the Bellandi family can't even keep a wife's seat for me, then I guess this family doesn't need a wife anymore. Luca, let's get divorced."

On the day the male influencer patient was discharged, he posted a tearful video accusing my chaste, principled doctor wife of sexually assaulting him. In the clip, he cowered in a corner of the hospital, trembling, his clothes disheveled. With a terrified cry of "Dr. Shelby," he abruptly cut the footage. Overnight, my wife became a monster in a white coat—public enemy number one across the internet. We begged him, again and again, to come forward and clarify the truth. Instead, he posted an injury assessment report and wept about being bullied by his doctor. My wife had no way to defend herself. She was suspended pending investigation—and in the end, she leapt from the thirtieth floor. I endured humiliation and waited for the truth to surface. When it finally did, I obtained a reexamination report that proved her innocence. But by then, no one cared about the truth anymore. And I, consumed by despair, died of cancer. When I opened my eyes again, I had returned to the day that patient was first admitted. This time, I begged my wife to take leave—I wanted to take her away from this doomed fate. But my gentle wife wrapped her arms around me, her eyes red, and said, "Don't be afraid, honey. This time… I won't run away."

I had been secretly married to Vivian Grant, my CEO wife, for six years, yet she never once let our son call her Mom. After she missed his birthday again because of her male assistant, I finally put the divorce papers in front of her and walked away for good with our son. The woman who had always seemed so controlled finally fell apart. She stormed into the office demanding to know where I’d gone. But this time, neither my son nor I were coming back.

A month before Wendy Johnson and I are set to marry, she tells me she wants to have another man's baby. Following my refusal, she keeps bringing it up daily. Half a month till the wedding, I see her pregnancy report. Just like that, I find out she is almost a month pregnant. It turns out she has no intention of seeking my agreement on this matter. At that very moment, my love for her for so many years dissipates for good. I'm calling off the wedding and destroying all our shared memories. On the day we are supposed to get married, I join a sealed-off research lab without a second thought. From now on, Wendy and I no longer have anything to do with each other!

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.

My daughter’s kindergarten held a family event, and I rushed there, only to see her holding hands with my wife’s male secretary. “Daddy,” she said, “I wish our family could stay like this forever.” I watched as the three of them hugged, radiant with happiness. Suddenly, exhaustion washed over me. Later, I filed for divorce. Then I left to teach in rural villages for thirty years. If I couldn’t light the lamp in my own home, I’d at least illuminate the path for others.

By month four of my IVF treatments, my husband's childhood sweetheart posted a picture of herself cradling her baby bump. The caption? [Having a happy ending with my first love. A family of three.] And there he was—his hand in the shot, making a cutesy heart with hers. Oh, and the cherry on top? He was still wearing his wedding ring.

For seven years, I love Cody Rummish, clinging to his promise—once his sister-in-law, Luna Briche, conceives, our ordeal ends, and we finally begin our married life. But reality betrays me. Just months after moving into his home, Cody slips into Luna's bedroom 88 times—starting with once a month, now nearly one or two visits daily. Every night, I sit in the downstairs living room, counting the minutes, clutching a flicker of unrealistic hope. As the sole heir after his twin brother's fatal plane crash, Cody inherits not just power and wealth but also, seamlessly, his brother's widow, Luna. After the 88th visit, Luna announces her pregnancy. But instead of Cody honoring his promise, a public declaration shatters me—he will formally marry Luna. I unravel, demanding answers. Silent, Cody locks me in the bedroom's walk-in closet. "Luna was trapped in an elevator for 30 minutes! She nearly died because of you! Stay here for five days. Feel her fear!" Only on the sixth morning does Cody casually open the door with a chuckle. "Alright, lesson learned. Time to apologize, right?" He finds only the stench of blood and my cold, lifeless body. He's killed the fiancée who's loved him for seven years.