My wife announced her pregnancy in a live stream, unaware that her husband is infertile.-7
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26th November 2025
Lipstick on a Coffee Cup
Mark. The name held vague familiarity. James frowned, sifting through fragmented memories. Was he a colleague she mentioned? Or someone from her circle? Once, Emily claimed she'd worked late, dropping her bag by the door—a coffee shop sleeve slipped out. Not her usual spot. On the rim, a faint, blurred lipstick mark—a soft pink tint. James knew Emily never wore that shade. Back then, only a fleeting unease had crossed his mind, dismissed in life's rush. Mark? Ah, yes—a new guy in their company's marketing department. Or was it a client?
Feigned Normalcy at Dinner
Dinner that night. James strained to act natural. "How was the craft class?" he asked, slicing chicken, voice steady. "Made a little teddy from felt wool—for the baby!" Emily's eyes sparkled. "Ugly, but meaningful, right?" "Nice." James chewed, the food like sawdust. Emily eyed him, smile fading. "You… still worried? About the report?" Her tone was tentative. "Maybe… a miracle? Doctors said low odds, not impossible, right?" A miracle? James met her anxious, earnest gaze. She truly believed this was his child. His stomach churned. "Food's getting cold." He looked away.
Tears in the Bathroom
He fled to the bathroom, locking the door. Water roared from the faucet, drowning all sound. James braced against the cold sink, knuckles white. Staring into the mirror, he saw a stranger—eyes bloodshot, face contorted with pain and rage. Not her fault? He raged inwardly. Yet he'd been sentenced to sterility. So whose child? The reflection accused. His fist slammed into the mirror—a dull thud. Unbroken, but spiderwebbed with cracks. Knuckles bled. He felt nothing. Numb.
NEXT >>
Mark. The name held vague familiarity. James frowned, sifting through fragmented memories. Was he a colleague she mentioned? Or someone from her circle? Once, Emily claimed she'd worked late, dropping her bag by the door—a coffee shop sleeve slipped out. Not her usual spot. On the rim, a faint, blurred lipstick mark—a soft pink tint. James knew Emily never wore that shade. Back then, only a fleeting unease had crossed his mind, dismissed in life's rush. Mark? Ah, yes—a new guy in their company's marketing department. Or was it a client?
Feigned Normalcy at DinnerDinner that night. James strained to act natural. "How was the craft class?" he asked, slicing chicken, voice steady. "Made a little teddy from felt wool—for the baby!" Emily's eyes sparkled. "Ugly, but meaningful, right?" "Nice." James chewed, the food like sawdust. Emily eyed him, smile fading. "You… still worried? About the report?" Her tone was tentative. "Maybe… a miracle? Doctors said low odds, not impossible, right?" A miracle? James met her anxious, earnest gaze. She truly believed this was his child. His stomach churned. "Food's getting cold." He looked away.
Tears in the BathroomHe fled to the bathroom, locking the door. Water roared from the faucet, drowning all sound. James braced against the cold sink, knuckles white. Staring into the mirror, he saw a stranger—eyes bloodshot, face contorted with pain and rage. Not her fault? He raged inwardly. Yet he'd been sentenced to sterility. So whose child? The reflection accused. His fist slammed into the mirror—a dull thud. Unbroken, but spiderwebbed with cracks. Knuckles bled. He felt nothing. Numb.
NEXT >>
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