I’m 32, and I never thought I could get pregnant. But five months into a relationship with Nazir—a married man, ten years older—I found out I was expecting. At first, he pulled away, insisting he already had a family. I cried for weeks before deciding this was my baby, whether he was involved or not.
Then everything shifted. When I told him it was a boy, he broke down. Suddenly, he was calling, checking in, even crying at the ultrasound. His wife, Farah, eventually discovered the truth. To my shock, she asked to meet me.
Farah wasn’t angry the way I expected. Instead, she looked me in the eye and said, “I don’t know if I hate you… or envy you.” Then she offered something unthinkable—support during my birth.
When labor came and Nazir didn’t answer, it was Farah who rushed me to the hospital. She held my hand through every contraction and was the first face I saw when my son, Daryan, was born. For two days, she stayed by my side like family.
Not long after, Farah left Nazir—not because of me, but because she realized she deserved more. Strangely, she and I grew close. She visits every week, helps with Daryan, and has become like a sister. Nazir is still in the picture as a father, but the bond that surprised me most was with her.
What began as betrayal became something unexpected: strength, freedom, and a friendship forged in pain. Life is messy, but sometimes the ugliest beginning creates the most beautiful bond.
