Andrea got drunk one night and ended up pregnant with an intern’s child.

By the time I found out, she was already three months along.

She knelt before me, her face full of guilt, and begged, “Peter, I’m sorry. I drank too much that night during the business dinner and mistook him for you. I swear, it only happened once!”

“Please don’t be angry. Don't worry. I’ll abort the baby right away and send that man overseas. I won’t let him dirty your sight again.”

After ten years of loving Andrea, I believed her.

Six months later, I returned from a business trip and went to the hospital for a check-up—only to catch sight of the intern holding a heavily pregnant Andrea.

When she saw me, she instinctively shielded him behind her and said, “Peter... he’s still young, and I took his virginity that night... I have to take responsibility.”

“I may not be able to give him a proper title, but at least I want our baby to stay with him. For the sake of our years together, please don’t make things hard for him, okay?”

At that moment, as I looked at the woman I’d loved for a decade, for the first time—I felt nothing but disgust.

So I didn’t shout or cry. I just calmly replied, “Alright.”

Then I turned around and canceled the IVF procedure I had scheduled.

While waiting in line, I dialed a long-abandoned number.

“I’m ready for a new wife. Are you in?”

——

The person on the other end went silent for a while before speaking. “Are you serious?! Peter, don’t joke like that. You know I’ve waited for this day for so long.”

Inhaling sharply, I calmly replied, “I’m serious. Come to New Jersey in three days. Bring the household registration booklet.”

Right after I hung up, the hospital’s announcement system called my name.

“Mr. Crawford, your sperm count has returned to normal. You may proceed with IVF.”

Upon hearing that, what I had just seen in the corridor replayed in my mind like a broken record.

Andrea leaning naturally against that young intern, her face glowing with the joy of impending motherhood.

But the child inside her wasn’t mine.

Tears I’d been holding back welled up and finally fell. I shook my head.

“I’m not doing it anymore.”

“My wife... is already dead to me.”

The doctor gave me a sympathetic look but didn’t try to persuade me. He quietly canceled the procedure scheduled for two days later.

As I left the office, I passed by the ultrasound room. I saw Andrea lying on the exam bed as the intern kissed her belly.

She gasped, probably from the cold, then giggled and curled up in his arms. The doctor beside them chuckled and said, “You two make such a loving couple.”

Andrea nodded. “Yes, he’s young, but he takes such good care of me.”

The tenderness in her eyes as she spoke stabbed deep into my heart.

Once upon a time, she looked at me the same way. Now, all that love belonged to someone else.

I couldn’t bear to watch any longer. I turned and fled.

It wasn’t until I got into the car that the tears finally streamed down my cheeks in silence.

Andrea and I were teenage sweethearts. We built everything from the ground up, side by side.

We used to huddle together in a cramped ten-square-meter basement, dreaming of a future. She once swore she’d only ever love me.

I always knew women’s promises were fragile. But back then—I chose to believe her anyway.

Over the years, the company had finally found its footing. But due to long-term drinking from constant business entertainment, I was diagnosed with low sperm motility.

On the very first day of my treatment, I bumped into Andrea and that intern—in the obstetrics department.

She dropped to her knees and pleaded with me, saying it was all a drunken mistake.

At that moment, I forgot how to breathe. I bit down hard on my lip to stay conscious.

After a long silence, I forced the pain in my chest down and finally responded.

"Andrea, I forgave you."

But what she didn’t know was—I would only forgive her once.

So when I saw them together today, I knew our marriage had reached its end.

With my thoughts slowly settling, I turned around and headed to the law firm. I drafted the divorce papers myself.

By the time I got home, it was already evening.

Andrea rushed to open the door and pulled me into her arms.

“Peter, where did you go? I called and called, but you wouldn’t answer.”

As she leaned in, I caught a strong whiff of perfume on her body—the exact sandalwood scent I despised.

Without a word, I sidestepped her embrace and replied calmly, “Nothing much. I just stopped by the law office on the way.”

Her brows furrowed. “Next time, just have Eric run that kind of errand. No need for you to bother—”

Before she could finish, I cut her off coldly. “Andrea, let’s get a divorce.”

She looked up at me in disbelief. “What did you say? You want a divorce?!”

“Just over this? I told you, what happened with him was just an accident. Now that he wants to keep the baby, I thought—since you have a low sperm count anyway—we might as well keep it. Once the child is born, we can bring it back for you to raise. And when things settle down, we’ll send him abroad. It’s not too late.”

Hearing her suggest I raise a child that wasn’t mine—one she had with another man—my chest tightened, and my fingers unconsciously clenched around the medical report in my bag.

“I’m not joking. This is the divorce agreement. Take a look,” I intoned coldly.

Andrea’s face instantly turned frosty. “Peter, are you throwing a tantrum? I’ve explained everything. Nothing will change between us. We’re even having a child now—what more do you want?”

“I’m really tired today, Peter. Can you stop making a scene?”

I almost laughed.

She cheated, yet somehow I was the one being unreasonable?

I shook my head and placed the divorce papers in front of her. “This isn’t working.”

“Andrea, you disgust me.”

That sentence lit a fire on her.

“Disgust? Do you know how many men out there would kill for a night with me? And just because of one mistake, you can’t be a little forgiving?”

As she shouted, she tore the divorce agreement to shreds.

“I’m telling you, I’m not agreeing to a divorce. Absolutely not!”

“And look at yourself, Peter—you’re thirty, you’ve got a low sperm count. Who else would even want you besides me?”

“I'll pretend this never happened. And from now on, you’re not allowed to bring it up again!”

With that, she slammed the door and stormed out.

I stayed behind, quietly picking up the torn pieces of paper from the floor.

Just as I finished cleaning up, my phone buzzed.

A message came in with two images of engagement rings.

I glanced at them and replied. [The one on the left.]

Then, I took off the wedding ring I’d worn for seven years and tossed it into the trash.

—

The next morning, I went to the office and handed over my work. I was just about to leave when my assistant, Joseph, ran in, flustered.

“Sir, one of our previous clients insists on seeing you. They’re waiting at the club.”

I followed him there. As the door opened, I froze.

Standing in the center of the room was Andrea, holding a large bouquet of roses.

Surrounding her were all too-familiar faces—even her mother, who had never liked me, was present.

Andrea stepped forward, guilt written all over her face.

“Peter, it was my fault. I panicked yesterday and said the wrong things. Today is our seventh wedding anniversary. Please, forgive me.”

When I didn’t respond, her mother walked over and whispered sharply in my ear, “Enough already. So what if she’s pregnant with someone else’s child? It’s your own fault for being useless. What's more, she already apologized—what more do you want?”

"Peter, a real man knows when to advance and when to retreat," my mother-in-law added.

I gave a bitter smile and was just about to say, “I don’t want anything—I just want a divorce,” when Andrea's eyes caught the bare skin of my ring finger and asked, “Peter, where’s your wedding ring? Did you forget to wear it? Well, It’s okay—I actually got you a new one.”

She started rummaging through her bag, but before she could find it, a man's voice sounded from behind.

“The ring’s with me.”

I turned around, but Andrea reached him first.

“What are you doing here? Didn’t you say you were busy with work today?”

The man gently wrapped his arm around her waist, and replied, “I saw the ring on the nightstand, and thought you might need it today, so I brought it over.”

“Andrea, I’m a little thirsty. Could you get me a glass of water?”

Without hesitation, Andrea hurried off to find a server. On the other hand, the man stepped right up to me.

“Hello, Peter. I’m Harvey.”

I didn’t respond.

Seemingly unbothered, he opened a small ring box in front of me.

I glanced down and smiled wryly. What a coincidence. It was identical to the one he wore on his finger.

“Peter, this is the custom ring Andrea had made for your seventh wedding anniversary.”

Then, he held it out for me to take.

I didn’t reach for it. The next second, the ring dropped to the floor, and Harvey knelt down right in front of me.

“Peter, I was wrong. I shouldn’t have slept with Andrea, even if I was drunk. I swear, it wasn’t intentional.”

“I don’t want anything. I just beg you—please let her keep the baby. I’ll even let you adopt the child as your own if that’s what it takes...”

His eyes were filled with tears, like he was the one suffering some unbearable injustice.

Just then, Andrea returned and saw the scene—Harvey kneeling before me.

The glass in her hand slipped and shattered on the ground.

She rushed to Harvey and gently helped him to his feet. Then she turned to me with a look I had never seen from her before—cold, and guarded.

“Peter, if you’ve got a problem, take it out on me. Why are you making things hard for him?”

The affection in her eyes was unmistakable.

And I realized—even though I had done nothing wrong, in her heart, I had already been convicted.

I was done explaining, so I turned to leave. But before I could get far, her mother stormed up and slapped me hard across the face.

“Useless trash! I thought you were at least sensible. Turns out you’re nothing but a petty, vindictive man—how dare you make him kneel!”

“I’m telling you, that baby—Harvey and Andrea’s child—will definitely be born into the Hayes family. And if anything happens to it, I won’t let you off!”

The sudden force of the slap knocked me backward into a towering pyramid of wine glasses.

In an instant, glass shattered all around me—dozens of sharp shards slashing my skin as they fell.

Andrea froze, instinctively wanting to come help me.

But the moment Harvey clutched his stomach and cried out, “Ah! My stomach... it hurts so much, Andrea, help me, I don’t feel well...”

She hesitated only a moment—then turned away from me, crouched beside Harvey, and helped him up without even a second glance back.

I lay on the floor, bleeding, and dazed, staring up at the giant screen where our wedding photo was still displayed.

Back then, Andrea whispered to me, “Peter, I will marry you. And if I ever make you bleed or cry, I’ll repay it with my life.”

But now—at thirty years old—even as I bled and wept before her, I was nothing more than a stranger in her eyes.

How ironic.

Eventually, I forced myself up, swallowing the pain, and hobbled out to catch a taxi to the hospital.

During the wound dressing, every sting of the alcohol-soaked gauze made my whole body tremble.

Beside me, two nurses were chatting casually.

“Did you hear? Up in the luxury suite on the top floor—Miss Hayes is spoiling that guy like crazy. He just said he was in pain and bam—she had people bring half the city’s luxury brands to the hospital room so he could pick something out.”