My wife announced her pregnancy in a live stream, unaware that her husband is infertile.-10
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26th November 2025
The Prenatal Appointment
Monday morning, Emily approached the study door, phone in hand. It stood ajar. James stared blankly at a wordless document on screen. "Um…" she whispered. "The hospital… I booked the first prenatal exam… tomorrow at nine…" She paused, breath held. James stiffened imperceptibly. He didn't turn or speak. "Will you…" her voice dropped lower, "…come with me?" Prenatal visit? To hear—perhaps see—proof of a child not his? James's eyes fixed on the blinking date clock. Time had crept to this point. Awkward silence stretched, crushing the thin morning air. Emily sighed faintly. Her footsteps retreated, heavy with disappointment.
Crossroads
James stood at his office window. Below, traffic surged. Crowds flowed. Everyone had direction. What about him? Divorce? Tell Emily to abort? It felt monstrous. Accept? Be the child's father? Pretend nothing happened? Could he? The cracked phone, Emily's broken sobs, her blissful livestream smile—these contradictions clashed violently in his mind, throbbing to the point of explosion. He snatched his coat and fled the office. Starting the car, he merged into traffic. But where to go? He had no idea.
Struggle Outside the Exam Room
Yet, when clarity returned, he found his car parked at the hospital lot. A glance at the dashboard: 9:10 AM. Emily would be waiting alone in reception. James gripped the wheel fiercely. Go up? Enter that area plastered with pregnancy posters and disinfectant smells? See ultrasound images of a barely formed sac? He pictured it—Emily on the table, cold gel applied, the doctor pointing to flickering dots: "See? That's your baby. Strong heartbeat." Would he snap? Vomit? Or… shamefully soften at life's first stirrings? He couldn't predict. He slumped forward, forehead against the cold steering wheel. The engine hummed low, like a dying patient's feeble pulse.
Taking That Step
The hum persisted, loud in the quiet lot. His phone buzzed. Screen lit up. Emily's text: "Doctor says baby's heartbeat is strong." James stared. And stared. The engine still running. He looked up at the maternity ward's bright glass doors. Released his grip. Key off. A sharp "click" echoed. He pushed open the car door. Cold air rushed in. Go up? Still unsure. His legs felt weighted with lead, each step a struggle. But finally, his left foot landed solidly, heavily on the parking lot's cold, rough concrete. He had taken that uncertain first step.
Monday morning, Emily approached the study door, phone in hand. It stood ajar. James stared blankly at a wordless document on screen. "Um…" she whispered. "The hospital… I booked the first prenatal exam… tomorrow at nine…" She paused, breath held. James stiffened imperceptibly. He didn't turn or speak. "Will you…" her voice dropped lower, "…come with me?" Prenatal visit? To hear—perhaps see—proof of a child not his? James's eyes fixed on the blinking date clock. Time had crept to this point. Awkward silence stretched, crushing the thin morning air. Emily sighed faintly. Her footsteps retreated, heavy with disappointment.
Crossroads
James stood at his office window. Below, traffic surged. Crowds flowed. Everyone had direction. What about him? Divorce? Tell Emily to abort? It felt monstrous. Accept? Be the child's father? Pretend nothing happened? Could he? The cracked phone, Emily's broken sobs, her blissful livestream smile—these contradictions clashed violently in his mind, throbbing to the point of explosion. He snatched his coat and fled the office. Starting the car, he merged into traffic. But where to go? He had no idea.
Struggle Outside the Exam RoomYet, when clarity returned, he found his car parked at the hospital lot. A glance at the dashboard: 9:10 AM. Emily would be waiting alone in reception. James gripped the wheel fiercely. Go up? Enter that area plastered with pregnancy posters and disinfectant smells? See ultrasound images of a barely formed sac? He pictured it—Emily on the table, cold gel applied, the doctor pointing to flickering dots: "See? That's your baby. Strong heartbeat." Would he snap? Vomit? Or… shamefully soften at life's first stirrings? He couldn't predict. He slumped forward, forehead against the cold steering wheel. The engine hummed low, like a dying patient's feeble pulse.
Taking That StepThe hum persisted, loud in the quiet lot. His phone buzzed. Screen lit up. Emily's text: "Doctor says baby's heartbeat is strong." James stared. And stared. The engine still running. He looked up at the maternity ward's bright glass doors. Released his grip. Key off. A sharp "click" echoed. He pushed open the car door. Cold air rushed in. Go up? Still unsure. His legs felt weighted with lead, each step a struggle. But finally, his left foot landed solidly, heavily on the parking lot's cold, rough concrete. He had taken that uncertain first step.
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