Chapter 1
On our seventh wedding anniversary, my husband Roger Crawford—who we'd agreed to celebrate with—suddenly disappeared.
It wasn't until late that night that his old flame, Martina Vincent, posted on her social media.
[Thank you to my dear Roger for donating his sperm when I was at my most desperate. Now I can finally have my own baby.]
I confronted Roger, but he replied nonchalantly, "Don't be so sensitive. I just helped Martina with IVF."
As always, he was utterly confident, certain that I'd never leave him no matter what.
But this time, he was sorely mistaken.
I shoved the pregnancy report back into my bag.
My body wouldn't stop shaking as I cradled my belly and whispered an apology to the baby.
I'd been planning to share the good news with him today—after all, he'd wanted a second child for ages.
But now, it looked like he'd prefer Martina Vincent to be the one giving him that second kid.
No wonder I'd seen him smirking at his phone like a fool these past few weeks.
It turned out his mind was entirely on another woman.
When I stayed silent, Roger transferred me some money, just like he always did.
To him, I was just a crass, materialistic housewife—throw money at the problem, and everything's fine.
Then he headed to the bathroom to freshen up, without so much as a glance back.
As I was finally drifting off, the bed sank behind me.
He reached over to pull me close, his hot breath sending a shiver through me.
In the past, I would've lost it—hysterically demanding to know why he was flirting with another woman, why he kept hurting his own wife again and again.
How could a well-educated man like him even suggest something as absurd as donating sperm for her to have a child?
But now, I just shifted away gently, slipping out of his grasp.
Roger sensed my mood and coaxed me softly, "Honey, Martina and I are like siblings—nothing more will ever happen.
"Her grandfather was my mentor, and this sperm donation was his dying wish. Once she has the baby, she'll have some stability, and I promise I won't reach out to her privately anymore. Okay?"
When I still didn't respond, his frustration boiled over, and he snapped, "Cathryn, I'm talking to you! What's with the cold shoulder?
"It's just IVF—what's the big deal?"
He climbed out of bed, grabbed a robe, and stormed off to the guest room.
His final jab, "I could've hidden this from you, but I told you out of respect."
Then he slammed the bedroom door.
I'd gone to so much trouble preparing for our anniversary.
Who could've imagined it ending like this?
Maybe I loved him too much—that was why he thought he could get away with anything.
But he had no idea that love had its limits; it could be wasted until there was nothing left.
The next morning, Roger headed out early.
I didn't need to wonder where he was going.
In the meantime, I called my childhood sweetheart, Manual Woods.
As a kid, he'd always tagged along behind me, vowing to protect me, so when I told him I wanted a divorce and asked to use his personal lawyer, he agreed without a second thought.
After I hung up, the sound of his car had long since faded from downstairs.
Lately, Roger had been either staying out late or constantly glued to his phone.
At first, I'd assumed he was buried in work—until yesterday, when it hit me that he was actually busy doting on Martina.
A few times, his colleagues couldn't reach him and even showed up at the house looking for him.
I'd made excuses for him back then. Now, it all made perfect sense.
After that, I went to the hospital.
The doctor was taken aback by my abrupt turnaround.
"Didn't you say you and your husband were both eager for a second child? Why the sudden change to an abortion?"
I looked down with a faint smile, saying nothing.
In today's world, marriages falling apart wasn't unusual—the doctor caught on immediately.
He shot me a few sympathetic glances before setting up the procedure.
The surgery was over in no time; just half an hour, and it was done.
As I walked out into the hospital lobby, I unexpectedly bumped into Roger and Martina.
He was gently supporting her arm, and whenever she was nearby, he only had eyes for her.
His typically cool, reserved demeanor had softened into something warm and tender, like a gentle spring breeze.
"Roger, don't worry so much. The doctor said I'm in perfect health—totally ready for IVF."
"But IVF sounds so tough. Just the thought of you going through that hurts me."
Martina's face flushed. "Blame it on bad timing. If I'd come back a few years sooner, we wouldn't need IVF at all."