My Wife Gave Birth to Twins, Only One Is Mine

It should have been a joyous occasion. Instead, it felt like a funeral.

Lorena arranged her mother’s funeral alone, carrying all the grief on her shoulders.

From that day on, she never called me. Not a single message. Not even for the sake of our son.

Even the child, so young, never asked about his grandmother. As if nothing had happened.

That same night, I contacted a lawyer to draft a divorce agreement.

When Lorena returned home, she didn't hesitate—she signed the papers without a word.

Because our child was still an infant, I hired a nanny to care for him.

Life, somehow, had to move forward.

Work couldn't stop, and neither could I.

But the moment I stepped back into the company, I felt the shift in the air.

Colleagues huddled in corners, whispering.

When I passed by, the murmurs stopped—but their eyes followed me, full of mockery, curiosity, and shallow sympathy.

“Did you hear? Miss Lorena gave birth to twins… from different fathers. One of them is Mr. Hardin’s!”

“Shhh! You can’t say that out loud—”

“No, it’s true! I overheard the doctor talking with Miss Lorena the day she gave birth.”

“Thomas even posted it on his Instagram—he said he’s the godfather, but it’s obvious the kid is his.”

“Poor Director Parker… totally in the dark. Miss Lorena cheated, gave birth, and then abandoned his child.”

Their words stung worse than slaps. Every sentence felt like a nail being driven deeper into my chest.

Everyone knew.

Everyone.

And I had become the center of a scandal I never asked for.

I don’t even remember how I made it to my office. My heart felt like it was bleeding.

Before I could collect myself, a colleague entered briskly.

“Director Parker, Miss Lorena just called. She wants everyone in the conference room for a meeting.”

I forced myself to stand, straightened my tie, and walked into the lion’s den.

The conference room was packed. All eyes turned as I entered. Then, the projector flickered on.

There she was—Lorena, still in confinement, holding Thomas' child in her arms. Calm. Collected.

She spoke without hesitation:

“During my recovery, I’ve decided to delegate the company’s presidency to Mr. Hardin. The current project must continue without delay. Whoever secures the deal will receive a generous bonus from the company.”

A hush fell over the room. Then the murmurs began again.

“I thought she’d let Director Parker manage in her absence… He is her husband, after all…”

“Keep your voice down…”

I said nothing. I didn’t have the energy to care.

I was going to divorce her. I would resign soon after. But before that, I had to finish the project—for the sake of my child. He needed milk, clothes, a future.

And so, I threw myself into the work.

Days blurred together. I spent nights rocking my son to sleep and dawns hunched over spreadsheets and presentations.

No rest. No relief.

My body began to break down under the pressure.

When I finally completed the project and met with potential partners, their feedback was overwhelmingly positive.

My effort hadn’t been in vain.

But just as I returned to my office, exhaustion finally caught up with me.

I collapsed.

When I came to, I was in a hospital bed, hooked to IV fluids and scolded by doctors.

But I didn’t care.

That day, the contract was supposed to be signed.

I discharged myself immediately and rushed to the company.

But the moment I stepped into the conference room, I stopped in my tracks.

There they were—Lorena and Thomas—signing the contract with the partner.

My project. My sleepless nights. My sweat and sacrifice.

“Who would’ve thought Mr. Hardin had this kind of capability?” someone whispered.

“I thought Director Parker was in charge of this deal…”

“Impossible. I’ve been managing this project the entire time,” Thomas said smoothly, smiling. “It’s cost me quite a lot.”

And just like that, I understood.

While I was unconscious, Thomas had stolen my work—and taken full credit for it.