After My Miscarriage, My Husband Got Another Woman Pregnant

I felt nauseous, my stomach churning, and turned to leave.

Ian grabbed my hand.

“Sherrie,” he said, his tone tinged with an unusual urgency.

“You’re still pregnant. Be careful—you might miscarry. Be a good girl and come home with me first. Things aren’t what you think.”

I turned to face him, my voice was cold. “Home? I don’t have a home anymore.”

He sighed, his face softening. “You’re still upset that I left you, aren’t you? Listen, after dropping Paula off, I went back to look for you, but you were already gone.”

A chill crept over me, freezing me to my core.

At that very moment, I was on an operating table. My child was already gone.

Ian glanced at me and suddenly laughed. “You lied about being in the hospital. Look at your belly—it’s fine.”

I forced a bitter smile, one filled with sorrow. He wasn’t blind. He simply didn’t care.

It didn’t matter if I had dressed up in new clothes or changed my hairstyle in the past, nor did it matter if I looked haggard and ghostly now.

To him, none of it ever mattered enough.

“Stop making a fuss. Let’s go home. I’ll make it up to you—and to the baby.”

His voice softened, carrying the same sincerity he’d once had when we were in love.

I stayed silent, hesitating. Deep down, I knew I needed someone to care for me right now.

My resolve wavered, and I finally nodded.

“Fine. I’ll go back with you.”

After checking out of the hotel, I climbed into the car and sat in the back seat without a word.

Paula, seated in the passenger seat, turned her head to look at me.

“Sherrie, don’t forget to fasten your seatbelt,” she said lightly. “There are traffic cops everywhere. You wouldn’t want a ticket.”

Her tone carried casual authority, as if she were the rightful mistress of the car and I was nothing more than an inconvenient guest.

I ignored her and quietly buckled my seatbelt.

As the car sped along the road, I leaned back, exhaustion overtaking me, and drifted off to sleep.

I woke with a jolt, startled by the sudden stop.

The moonlight poured through the window, casting everything outside in a silvery glow. The world was eerily quiet.

“Ian, now that my divorce is public, I can only imagine what people in the village are saying about me.”

Paula’s soft, tearful voice drifted through the open window.

I sat up, looking in the direction of the sound. Ian was standing beneath a tree on the roadside, and Paula was clinging to him, her body pressed close, her eyes glistening with tears.

“Lloyd is still so young,” she whimpered. “I’m terrified people will look down on him.”

Ian’s face filled with sympathy as he reached out to wipe her tears.

“Paula, no one will dare say a word while I’m here. On the 8th, I’ll attend the celebration as Lloyd’s father. I’ll stand by you and the boy.”

Paula’s tears turned into a bashful smile. “You’ve been running around for me these past few days. The villagers are probably already convinced you’re Lloyd’s dad.”

Ian chuckled and gently tapped her nose, his gaze tender. “Well, your ex-husband’s never around anyway. Just tell them I am!”

I watched the scene unfold, my heart a chasm of icy numbness. A bitter laugh escaped me, quiet and sharp.

Ian, if only you knew your own child, now lay in an ice-cold coffin. Would you still play pretend as the father of someone else’s child?

A cold wind swept through my chest, hollowing me out further.

I sank back into the car, closing my eyes as if shutting out the world could erase what I’d seen.

A few minutes later, the car door opened and closed.

I didn’t stir, pretending to sleep. Ian got in, humming a cheerful tune, the rhythm beating mockingly in the dark.

He didn’t glance back at me even once.

Back at his family's home, the reception was as cold as I had expected.

“Oh, she’s back,” his parents said with disinterest before turning their full attention to Ian. They surrounded him, bombarding him with questions about his well-being.

My sister-in-law, glued to her phone, didn’t so much as glance in my direction.

It was as if I didn’t exist.

The ache in my abdomen grew sharper, and hunger gnawed at me, the acid in my stomach churning. Finally, unable to bear it any longer, I broke the silence.

“Ian, is there a night market nearby? I need something warm to eat.”