My Wife Had a Baby with Another Man, So I Got Remarried

"Andrea, I forgave you."

But what she didn’t know was—I would only forgive her once.

So when I saw them together today, I knew our marriage had reached its end.

With my thoughts slowly settling, I turned around and headed to the law firm. I drafted the divorce papers myself.

By the time I got home, it was already evening.

Andrea rushed to open the door and pulled me into her arms.

“Peter, where did you go? I called and called, but you wouldn’t answer.”

As she leaned in, I caught a strong whiff of perfume on her body—the exact sandalwood scent I despised.

Without a word, I sidestepped her embrace and replied calmly, “Nothing much. I just stopped by the law office on the way.”

Her brows furrowed. “Next time, just have Eric run that kind of errand. No need for you to bother—”

Before she could finish, I cut her off coldly. “Andrea, let’s get a divorce.”

She looked up at me in disbelief. “What did you say? You want a divorce?!”

“Just over this? I told you, what happened with him was just an accident. Now that he wants to keep the baby, I thought—since you have a low sperm count anyway—we might as well keep it. Once the child is born, we can bring it back for you to raise. And when things settle down, we’ll send him abroad. It’s not too late.”

Hearing her suggest I raise a child that wasn’t mine—one she had with another man—my chest tightened, and my fingers unconsciously clenched around the medical report in my bag.

“I’m not joking. This is the divorce agreement. Take a look,” I intoned coldly.

Andrea’s face instantly turned frosty. “Peter, are you throwing a tantrum? I’ve explained everything. Nothing will change between us. We’re even having a child now—what more do you want?”

“I’m really tired today, Peter. Can you stop making a scene?”

I almost laughed.

She cheated, yet somehow I was the one being unreasonable?

I shook my head and placed the divorce papers in front of her. “This isn’t working.”

“Andrea, you disgust me.”

That sentence lit a fire on her.

“Disgust? Do you know how many men out there would kill for a night with me? And just because of one mistake, you can’t be a little forgiving?”

As she shouted, she tore the divorce agreement to shreds.

“I’m telling you, I’m not agreeing to a divorce. Absolutely not!”

“And look at yourself, Peter—you’re thirty, you’ve got a low sperm count. Who else would even want you besides me?”

“I'll pretend this never happened. And from now on, you’re not allowed to bring it up again!”

With that, she slammed the door and stormed out.

I stayed behind, quietly picking up the torn pieces of paper from the floor.

Just as I finished cleaning up, my phone buzzed.

A message came in with two images of engagement rings.

I glanced at them and replied. [The one on the left.]

Then, I took off the wedding ring I’d worn for seven years and tossed it into the trash.

—

The next morning, I went to the office and handed over my work. I was just about to leave when my assistant, Joseph, ran in, flustered.

“Sir, one of our previous clients insists on seeing you. They’re waiting at the club.”

I followed him there. As the door opened, I froze.

Standing in the center of the room was Andrea, holding a large bouquet of roses.

Surrounding her were all too-familiar faces—even her mother, who had never liked me, was present.

Andrea stepped forward, guilt written all over her face.

“Peter, it was my fault. I panicked yesterday and said the wrong things. Today is our seventh wedding anniversary. Please, forgive me.”

When I didn’t respond, her mother walked over and whispered sharply in my ear, “Enough already. So what if she’s pregnant with someone else’s child? It’s your own fault for being useless. What's more, she already apologized—what more do you want?”