Another Man Got My Wife Pregnant

Van Klein, the man she truly loved, was terminally ill. In tears, he begged his wife to give him a child.

“I love David Bruce now, not you. Please find someone else.”

His wife coldly rejected him.

I was overjoyed, thinking I had finally received all her love.

The next day, she told me she was leaving for a one-year business trip abroad.

I didn’t think much of it and just wished her well.

But eight months later, on our wedding anniversary, I flew overseas to surprise her—and found her pregnant, clinging intimately to Van Klein’s arm.

Everything had been a lie.

I laughed bitterly at myself and tossed the carefully prepared gift into a trash bin.

——

“Honey, today’s our eighth wedding anniversary. I’m sorry I can’t be there with you.”

Pam Dickson called me.

I paused, then replied, “It’s okay.”

“Honey, when I get back, I’ll give you a big surprise.”

“You already have,” I thought.

I stared at her from a distance—Pam smiling sweetly in Van Klein’s arms, the father of her child. A flicker of guilt flashed in her eyes.

“Honey, these business trips are exhausting. I’m swamped with work every day.”

She was still lying to me.

I clenched the phone tightly.

When we first got married, Pam told me the cruelest thing in love was deception. She once said, “If one day you stop loving me, promise you’ll tell me.”

She also said, “If there’s no love, don’t cause pain.”

But now, she had lied to me. And she hurt me.

I felt suffocated.

“Honey, why are you so quiet?”

I looked up, forcing back tears. My voice was hoarse. “I was working just now.”

On the other end, Pam sighed in relief and chuckled. “Okay, I won’t interrupt. I love you!”

She hung up.

From where I stood, I watched her get into a car with Van, his arm wrapped protectively around her.

As the door closed, tears finally slid down my face.

Why did she lie to me?

“If there’s no love, don’t cause pain”—hadn’t she said that?

I took a taxi straight to the airport.

I had come with joy, but I left with heartbreak.

Later, she sent a message: [Honey, I bought you a gift—the game console you’ve always wanted. It’s already been shipped home.]

I replied with a simple “Oh.”

Was that guilty?

She hadn’t considered my feelings before, and now she tried to make up for it.

Wasn’t that absurd?

When I returned to America, I buried myself at work. I stayed late at the office every night. My coworkers joked that I was trying to earn extra money to buy Pam a lavish anniversary gift when she got back.

They didn’t know I was trying to drown my pain.

The first time I met Pam was at her father’s funeral.

She didn’t cry—she just stood there, staring blankly at the burial.

My heart ached. I walked over and offered a few words of comfort.

What followed surprised everyone, including myself. She became attached to me.

While I worked, she’d come up with excuses to stay nearby.

On weekends, she’d insist we eat together, shop, or watch movies.

She forced her way into my life.

I once asked her why, exasperated.

She said, “Everyone else approaches me because I’m pretty. They have hidden motives. But you’re different. I can feel your sincerity.”

“Dad’s gone. Mom works all the time. I just want someone who truly cares for me.”