Another Man Got My Wife Pregnant

“David, are you willing to be that person?”

Looking at her hopeful expression, I smiled and extended my hand to her.

“Hello, my name is David.”

She smiled.

She smiled so brightly.

From that day on, we became friends.

She told me everything—her joys, her sorrows, her complaints. Whenever something made her happy, she’d rush to share it with me. When she was down, she confided in me without hesitation.

Together, we explored every corner of the city.

A colleague once warned me not to get too involved, reminding me that she already had her “white moonlight.”

I just laughed it off.

Because to me, she was just a friend.

But the more time I spent with her, the more I felt sorry for her.

Her father had died, and her mother was constantly busy with work. She was surrounded by people who were drawn only to her looks. She didn’t have a single true friend.

She deserved to be loved.

Then, her mother was in a car accident. As she lay dying, she gripped my hand tightly.

“David, I can tell you genuinely care about Pam. I’m grateful you’ve stayed by her side.”

“Her father is gone, and now I’m going too. I worry about her being alone in this world.”

“David, will you promise me to take care of her for the rest of her life?”

How could I say no to a mother thinking only of her daughter in her final moments?

Pam and I got married.

After marriage, I did everything I could for her. I gave her all my love and care.

Sometimes I wished I could split into two people just to juggle both work and home perfectly.

Whenever I said I was tired, she would smile and massage my shoulders. “God was so good to me, letting you come into my life.”

“Hubby, let’s be together forever.”

But she broke that promise first.

And it hurt more than I imagined.

Two months later, I saw Pam again. She walked out of the airport with a baby—and with Van.

“Hubby, don’t you think the child Van adopted abroad is adorable?” she said with a smile.

I couldn’t bring myself to smile back. I just nodded.

Van grinned and added, “I met Pam abroad. She noticed how hard it was for me to care for the baby alone, so she suggested we return to America. She offered to help with the child.”

I ignored the challenge in his tone and turned to look at Pam.

She avoided my gaze, lowered her head, and said, “Van is a man—it’s hard for him to raise a baby alone. And since there’s a spare room in our house, I thought they could move in. That way, we could help when we have time.”

I stared at her, stunned, speechless.

That house was the home we built together with love—yet now she wanted Van to live in it.

My chest ached. In a rough voice, I said just one word:

“Okay.”

Pam beamed. “Hubby, I knew you were the best!”

I smiled too.

But it wasn’t because I was kind. It was because my heart had completely given up at that moment.

I simply stopped caring.

That night, as we were getting ready for bed, Pam said, “Hubby, go to sleep first. The baby might cry later—I’ll come back after calming him down.”

I waited the whole night. She never returned.

The next morning, she explained, “The baby cried the whole night. I didn’t sleep until dawn. I was so exhausted I had dark circles under my eyes.”

“Yes, Pam worked really hard,” Van added with a smirk. “Without her, I’d have a massive headache.”

“David, you’re not getting the wrong idea, are you?”

I said nothing and quietly turned around to make breakfast.

“Honey, the baby’s turning a month old soon. I want to help Van throw a full-month celebration. What do you think?”

My hand, mid-slice, paused. Then I replied flatly, “Okay.”

“Thank you, hubby!”

Pam cheerfully went off to plan the banquet—with Van.