Chapter 3 · More about My Wife

I couldn't sleep that night.

At three in the morning, I went to the kitchen for some water. As I passed through the living room, I saw Claire's bag tossed on the couch.

The file folder was inside.

I stood there for ten seconds, hesitating.

Finally, I reached in and pulled it out.

I opened it.

Inside was a contract for transferring intellectual property.

David was listed as Party A.

Claire was Party B.

Basically, David was selling the copyright for a set of commercial space design plans to Claire for 70,000 dollars.

Attached were Claire's original design drafts.

I read the contract from start to finish.

I focused on that 70,000 dollars.

Claire, a freelance designer who worked from home, had signed a 70,000-dollar copyright transfer contract.

I put the file folder back where I found it.

Hence, the contract did clear up part of the mystery, which was that Claire and David were working on a project together, indeed.

But that still didn't explain everything.

Why did they have to meet at a hotel?

Why had she never mentioned it to me?

Why would she hide a 70,000-dollar project from me?

The next morning, I decided to ask her about it.

"Have you been getting a lot of design work lately?" I asked.

"Not too bad. Only a few scattered jobs," Claire answered, sipping her cereal. "Nothing major."

'Nothing major?' I repeated her answer inwardly.

She called 70,000 dollars a small job, huh?

I smiled and let it go.

In the 24th week, Claire had a 4D ultrasound.

She shared a photo of the baby in the family WhatsApp group.

My mom replied, [Good.]

My dad wired some money to Claire as a gift.

Aunt Zoe, Dad's sister, commented, [Its nose looks like Michael's when he was young.]

I kept staring at that blurry 4D ultrasound for ages.

Did the baby look like me? I couldn't see any resemblance.

That afternoon, David's ID popped up on Claire's phone again.

This time, it wasn't a WhatsApp message.

It was a bank transfer notification instead.

The amount received was 35,000 dollars.

And the note said: [Final payment.]

It was 35,000 dollars.

Adding that to the 70,000 dollars from the contract, Claire had gotten at least 105,000 dollars out of David.

She hadn't told me a thing about any of this money.

I went to the bank and got the transaction records for all of Claire's accounts.

The card she'd been using since we got married had over 3,500 dollars in it.

But she also had another card from a different bank, which I'd never seen before.

It had 160,000 dollars in it.

The transaction records showed that over the past six months, there had been several large transfers into the account.

There were three transaction records of 35,000 dollars, a record of 20,000 dollars, a record of 17,000 dollars, a record of 13,000 dollars, and a record of 5,000 dollars.

All the transfers came from the same account. David's account.

The total was 160,000 dollars.

I sat in my car, staring at the transaction records for half an hour.

A possibility started to take shape in my head.

My inner voice said, 'That wasn't money for a project. Instead, it's...'

My phone rang. Claire was calling.

"Honey, when are you coming home? I made some grilled ribs for dinner tonight," she said.

"I'm on my way, almost home," I replied.

I folded the transaction records and stuffed them into the glove compartment.

Then, I started looking into David's background.

Kevin helped me out. He had plenty of connections in the legal community.

Three days later, he sent me some background info on David.

David was 43, the founder of BrightFuture Design in East Zalcoast, with a registered capital of seven million dollars. His company specialized in design consulting for commercial spaces and real estate projects.

He was divorced. His ex-wife's family name was Young, and they split up two years ago. Their daughter lived with her.

He owned two properties, a Porsche Cayenne, and a Mercedes-Benz GLE.

His company had been doing steady business for the past three years, with no lawsuits or bad credit.

He was clean, respectable, and wealthy.

Kevin tacked on a note: [He's got a pretty good rep in the industry. Never heard any gossip about him and women. Are you sure Claire's got something going on with him?]

I didn't reply.

When I got home that night, Claire was trying on a new dress.

It was an orange maternity dress, and the color made her glow.

"Does it look good?" she asked, spinning around in front of the mirror.

"It looks great," I remarked.

"I got it online for only 70 bucks," she said.

Only 70 bucks.

'You are sitting on 160,000 dollars in your bank account, and you are acting like a 70-buck dress is a big deal?' I thought.

"If you want anything, buy it. Don't hold back," I said.

Claire smiled and stood on her tiptoes to kiss my cheek.

I wondered, 'If I'm truly not the baby's father, is she saving up David's money to leave me someday? Or is she planning to have me raise someone else's kid without ever telling me?'

In the 28th week of Claire's pregnancy, I went to the hospital for a follow-up.

It wasn't a prenatal checkup. I went to urology for myself.

I booked an appointment with Harris Warren, the doctor who did my surgery back then.

"Dr. Warren, I'd like to get another semen analysis," I requested.

Harris flipped through my medical record, looking a bit surprised.

"Your six-month post-op checkup came back zero for sperm count. What made you want to get tested again?" he asked.

"I want to be sure," I said.

Harris wrote up the test slip.

Three days later, the test results finally arrived.

Chapter 3

I couldn't sleep that night.

At three in the morning, I went to the kitchen for some water. As I passed through the living room, I saw Claire's bag tossed on the couch.

The file folder was inside.

I stood there for ten seconds, hesitating.

Finally, I reached in and pulled it out.

I opened it.

Inside was a contract for transferring intellectual property.

David was listed as Party A.

Claire was Party B.

Basically, David was selling the copyright for a set of commercial space design plans to Claire for 70,000 dollars.

Attached were Claire's original design drafts.

I read the contract from start to finish.

I focused on that 70,000 dollars.

Claire, a freelance designer who worked from home, had signed a 70,000-dollar copyright transfer contract.

I put the file folder back where I found it.

Hence, the contract did clear up part of the mystery, which was that Claire and David were working on a project together, indeed.

But that still didn't explain everything.

Why did they have to meet at a hotel?

Why had she never mentioned it to me?

Why would she hide a 70,000-dollar project from me?

The next morning, I decided to ask her about it.

"Have you been getting a lot of design work lately?" I asked.

"Not too bad. Only a few scattered jobs," Claire answered, sipping her cereal. "Nothing major."

'Nothing major?' I repeated her answer inwardly.

She called 70,000 dollars a small job, huh?

I smiled and let it go.

In the 24th week, Claire had a 4D ultrasound.

She shared a photo of the baby in the family WhatsApp group.

My mom replied, [Good.]

My dad wired some money to Claire as a gift.

Aunt Zoe, Dad's sister, commented, [Its nose looks like Michael's when he was young.]

I kept staring at that blurry 4D ultrasound for ages.

Did the baby look like me? I couldn't see any resemblance.

That afternoon, David's ID popped up on Claire's phone again.

This time, it wasn't a WhatsApp message.

It was a bank transfer notification instead.

The amount received was 35,000 dollars.

And the note said: [Final payment.]

It was 35,000 dollars.

Adding that to the 70,000 dollars from the contract, Claire had gotten at least 105,000 dollars out of David.

She hadn't told me a thing about any of this money.

I went to the bank and got the transaction records for all of Claire's accounts.

The card she'd been using since we got married had over 3,500 dollars in it.

But she also had another card from a different bank, which I'd never seen before.

It had 160,000 dollars in it.

The transaction records showed that over the past six months, there had been several large transfers into the account.

There were three transaction records of 35,000 dollars, a record of 20,000 dollars, a record of 17,000 dollars, a record of 13,000 dollars, and a record of 5,000 dollars.

All the transfers came from the same account. David's account.

The total was 160,000 dollars.

I sat in my car, staring at the transaction records for half an hour.

A possibility started to take shape in my head.

My inner voice said, 'That wasn't money for a project. Instead, it's...'

My phone rang. Claire was calling.

"Honey, when are you coming home? I made some grilled ribs for dinner tonight," she said.

"I'm on my way, almost home," I replied.

I folded the transaction records and stuffed them into the glove compartment.

Then, I started looking into David's background.

Kevin helped me out. He had plenty of connections in the legal community.

Three days later, he sent me some background info on David.

He was divorced. His ex-wife's family name was Young, and they split up two years ago. Their daughter lived with her.

He owned two properties, a Porsche Cayenne, and a Mercedes-Benz GLE.

His company had been doing steady business for the past three years, with no lawsuits or bad credit.

He was clean, respectable, and wealthy.

Kevin tacked on a note: [He's got a pretty good rep in the industry. Never heard any gossip about him and women. Are you sure Claire's got something going on with him?]

I didn't reply.

When I got home that night, Claire was trying on a new dress.

It was an orange maternity dress, and the color made her glow.

"Does it look good?" she asked, spinning around in front of the mirror.

"It looks great," I remarked.

"I got it online for only 70 bucks," she said.

Only 70 bucks.

'You are sitting on 160,000 dollars in your bank account, and you are acting like a 70-buck dress is a big deal?' I thought.

"If you want anything, buy it. Don't hold back," I said.

Claire smiled and stood on her tiptoes to kiss my cheek.

I wondered, 'If I'm truly not the baby's father, is she saving up David's money to leave me someday? Or is she planning to have me raise someone else's kid without ever telling me?'

In the 28th week of Claire's pregnancy, I went to the hospital for a follow-up.

It wasn't a prenatal checkup. I went to urology for myself.

I booked an appointment with Harris Warren, the doctor who did my surgery back then.

"Dr. Warren, I'd like to get another semen analysis," I requested.

Harris flipped through my medical record, looking a bit surprised.

"Your six-month post-op checkup came back zero for sperm count. What made you want to get tested again?" he asked.

"I want to be sure," I said.

Harris wrote up the test slip.

Three days later, the test results finally arrived.