After twenty years of a child-free marriage, Charles Davis suddenly returned home with a seven-year-old child.

When I dug deeper, I uncovered the truth: he had been secretly supporting another woman, and she was pregnant again. Even my mother-in-law, who should have been enjoying her retirement, had moved in with her, personally tending to her during the pregnancy.

I lost all composure when everything came to light and confronted Charles in a heated, heart-wrenching argument.

Relatives and friends tried to reason with me.

"Why make such a big scene? You've been married for twenty years. Honestly, we understand Charles. A man needs an heir. Unlike a woman, he can't live without roots…"

Tears blurred my vision as I stared at Charles, who stood silently. He was already in his forties, yet time had barely touched him. His face was still strikingly handsome and well-maintained as if he had never carried the burdens I had.

"You can bring the child home. That is the greatest compromise I can offer."

Charles grabbed his car keys and walked toward the door. I thought my words had settled the matter, that he had silently agreed.

But just before stepping out, he reached up and took down our wedding photo from the entryway.

"Eleanor went through the agony of carrying my child for ten months. It wasn't easy for her. I won't abandon her to fend for herself."

His gaze met mine, cold, indifferent, stripped of the love I once knew.

"If you can't accept them, then from now on, I'll spend odd-numbered days with her and even-numbered days with you."

My fingers curled into fists. Any lingering hope that we could mend what was broken crumbled instantly.

"In that case, let's get a divorce!"

——

The room fell into a suffocating silence. Even Charles, who was about to shut the door, stopped in his tracks.

He turned back slowly, his expression unreadable, lips pressed into a thin line.

"Natalie… don't be ridiculous."

Tears burned my eyes, but I wiped them away, refusing to let them fall.

"I'm not being ridiculous. Charles, let's divorce."

His face darkened, his gaze sharpening as it settled on me with a mix of disbelief and reproach.

"Natalie, it's been twenty years. Why are you still so stubborn?"

"Eleanor is ten years younger than you, yet she's gentle and understanding. She knows her position is difficult, but she never complains. She only wants to stay by my side and care for our child. She's done nothing wrong."

"She gave birth to my child, and now you expect me to take the baby from her and abandon her like she never mattered? I can't do it. I won't be that heartless."

His voice was calm, almost detached, yet every word struck me like a blade, cutting deeper than I ever thought possible.

I closed my eyes.

Twenty years ago, Charles and I had been inseparable, bound by love and shared convictions. We had believed in the same future where children had no place, not because we didn't care but because we weren't ready to shoulder the weight of parenthood so young.

I had feared the pain of childbirth, and without hesitation, Charles had undergone a vasectomy. We had taken every precaution, ensuring our choice remained unchanged.

Our decision sparked outrage on both sides of the family. His father had been livid, throwing us out without a second thought. But Charles hadn't wavered. He had stood by me, choosing to break away and build our own life.

Together, we had started from nothing, carving out a future with our own hands.

Ten years ago, when the pressure to have children reached its peak, his mother had even pressed a knife to her throat, demanding we give her a grandchild.

I couldn't pretend I hadn't been shaken. The sight of her so desperate had unsettled me, and for the first time, doubt crept in.

"Do you not want children?" I had asked, my voice unsteady. "Even seeing your mother like this, are you still sure? We could have a child…"

Charles had taken my hand, his grip firm, his eyes filled with unwavering love.

"Natalie, I don't want you to suffer through childbirth. And I don't want us to bring a child into this world because of someone else's demands. Do you understand?"

I had understood. Yet, I had still told him, "If one day you want a child, just tell me directly, and we'll decide together."

And Charles had agreed without hesitation.

Seven years ago, Isaiah, his father, inexplicably stopped being angry. Even his mother, Leah, had abandoned her under relentless pressure. They had suggested moving to another city and embracing retirement. At the same time, Charles would visit from time to time to check on them.

I had believed them. I had truly thought they had finally accepted our choice.

Then… I saw the picture.

It was a family photo on Leah's social media.

Charles. Another woman. A little boy.

Smiling. Happy. Complete.

The moment I saw it, something inside me shattered. The illusion I had clung to crumbled like sand slipping through my fingers. The truth cut through me like a blade, sharp and merciless.

His frequent trips to another city had never been about visiting aging parents.

They had been about them.

His real family.

The joyful moments Leah had captured so fondly, so effortlessly, felt like knives tearing through me, robbing me of breath, leaving nothing but searing pain in their wake.

I parted my lips, but the escaped sound was hoarse, barely recognizable.

"And what about me? Charles, when you treat me like this… isn't that just as heartless? Just as cruel?"

A flicker of guilt crossed his face, softening the steel in his voice.

"I'm sorry, Natalie. I never wanted you to endure the pain of childbirth. But if you're willing, I can bring them here. We can all live together—"

I let out a bitter laugh, the sound sharp and hollow.

"So let me get this straight. My husband cheats on me, and not only am I expected to forgive him, but I also have to accept his mistress's child. And now, I'm supposed to share a home with her, bump into her in the hallways, and pretend this is normal?"

Charles fell silent. He had no excuse left.

When he finally left, he was considerate enough to take all the lingering relatives with him as if granting me space to digest the unbearable truth.

Before stepping out, he turned back once more.

"Natalie, I know this is a lot to take in. It's fine. Take your time. But my decision remains the same: I won't abandon Eleanor Kelley or our child."

I sat still as the hours bled into the night.

By the time dawn stretched its weary light across the room, I reached for my phone and dialed the company lawyer.

"You know how to draft a divorce agreement, right? Draft one for me. I want a divorce."

And just as he had promised, Charles spent an entire week with them, never looking back.

My hands trembled when the high-priced paparazzi finally sent over a stack of photos and videos. I almost couldn't bring myself to open them.

Now that everything had blown up, Leah no longer bothered to keep up the facade. She didn't even pretend to be civil.

Instead, she flooded social media with endless videos, at least eight hundred of them, showcasing Charles's picture-perfect little family.

Charles played with his son.

Charles taught the boy how to write.

Charles tenderly supported his pregnant mistress as they took a leisurely stroll.

And the captions, overflowing with joy, cut deeper than any blade.

[Daddy took the little one out for another fun trip!]

[My precious grandson is starting first grade this year! He even pouted and begged his dad for help with homework!]

[My son and daughter-in-law.]

The content was no different from what the paparazzi had captured, just ordinary, heartwarming family moments.

Yet, to me, they burned like salt on an open wound.

After a long silence, I finally left a comment beneath one of the posts.

[If she's your daughter-in-law, then who is the person listed as your son's spouse?]

The comment vanished almost instantly.

Seconds later, a 60-second voice message arrived from Leah.

"What nonsense are you spewing under my video? Do you even realize what people will think of my grandson if you say things like that? He's just a child! Do you want him to be labeled a bastard? How can you be so cruel?! Let me tell you, I haven't even begun to settle accounts with you! You refused to give my son a child, fine! But you even convinced him to get a vasectomy…"

Before I could react, more voice messages followed one after another, flooding my phone.

I thought I had cried all my tears in the past few days.

But hearing her gloat, twisting everything as if I were the villain, my eyes still burned, and the tears still fell.

I couldn't understand. How could people change so suddenly?

Leah, who once treated me like her own daughter, had turned into a stranger. And Charles, the man I had spent twenty years of marriage with, had become someone I no longer recognized.

When Charles returned, he found me sitting by the window, my voice lost from crying too much. He pulled me into his arms, the chill from outside still clinging to him.

Silently, he took off his coat and tucked my frozen hands inside his sweater, his warmth seeping into my skin.

For a fleeting moment, it felt like time had rewound twenty years to when we still loved each other fiercely.

Back then, we struggled. Isaiah had cut off every opportunity for Charles, trying to make him regret his decision to get a vasectomy. Because of that, he resented me, too.

In this vast, indifferent city, we had slept in a cramped basement, surviving on instant noodles and steamed buns. At our poorest, we couldn't even afford a single sanitary pad.

On the coldest nights, we curled up together in one bed, wearing every piece of clothing we owned, shivering beneath a threadbare blanket.

I had cried back then, too.

I kept telling myself to let go, that if we clung to this life any longer, Charles, whose health was already fragile, would only wither further.

"Charles, let's stop this. Let's get a divorce. Go back and admit your mistake. If you go now, you might even get a warm bowl of chicken soup waiting for you."

He held me tighter, tucking my hands deeper into his clothes, pressing my frozen feet against his body as if trying to shield me from the world itself. His voice trembled between fear and determination.

"No, I won't divorce you. Natalie, I won't say I was wrong because I wasn't. I'm sorry… The vasectomy hurt, but I couldn't bear to see you suffer. And yet… I still made you suffer."

Bitterness spread across my tongue, the taste no different from the tears that blurred my vision. The past and present bled together, indistinguishable.

"Charles, let's leave, okay?"

"You love children. We can have one of our own, okay?"

"Why? Why didn't you tell me when you wanted a child?"

A heavy silence settled between us, thick and suffocating. It crashed over me like a wave, dragging me back to reality.

Slowly, mechanically, I turned to look at Charles.

As I followed the hesitation flickering across his face, I realized he hadn't come back alone.

This was my first time meeting Eleanor.

Just like in the videos Leah had posted, she was young, poised, and exuded a soft maternal warmth, graceful in a way that made it impossible to look away.

And I turned toward the mirror by the window. My swollen, red-rimmed eyes stared back, puffy like walnuts, the wrinkles at the corners deepened by days of relentless tears. I looked utterly miserable.

Something unfamiliar twisted inside me.

Eleanor's gaze lingered on the very spot where Charles had been warming my hands. The pain in her eyes didn't seem feigned, yet she forced a smile as she gently nudged the child beside her forward.

Charles, visibly shaken by her sadness, didn't hesitate. His hand slipped from mine, and without a second thought, he wrapped his arm around her shoulders.

He said nothing, just pressed a tender kiss to Eleanor's forehead, a soothing gesture meant for her alone.

A sharp wave of bitterness surged through me, and my fingers, still not fully warmed, turned cold once more.

Eleanor shyly touched her face, then glanced at me with a smile, subtle yet triumphant.

"Orion, go on, say hello. This is Aunt Natalie."

I stiffened, disbelief lacing my voice.

"What… did you call me?"

She smiled, her tone light, almost effortless. "Orion. Orion, like the stars. Charles said he hopes he'll grow up to be as bright and admirable as the sky above."

A ringing filled my ears. My mind blanked.

Orion's lips moved, he was speaking, but I couldn't hear a single word.

Slowly, I turned to Charles, searching for an answer, but he only lowered his head, his guilt laid bare in the silence.

Orion Davis.

The name we had chosen together long ago when we had still dared to dream of a child of our own.