I still remember the day my wife came home glowing and said, “I’m pregnant.” I felt pure joy—baby names, tiny socks, a future full of hope.
A week later, at her first prenatal appointment, the doctor smiled and said, “Congratulations on your second child.”
“Second?” I asked, confused.
The doctor explained her medical history: she’d had a baby three years ago and placed the child for adoption. My wife went pale and whispered the truth—the father was still in her life… and the baby she was carrying wasn’t mine.
In that moment, everything I believed about our marriage shattered. The future I’d imagined disappeared. I realized, for the first time in five years, I didn’t truly know the woman I’d married.
