My Wife Wanted a Baby with Her First Love

As soon as I hit the Post button, the notifications blew up. Likes, comments, messages—my phone wouldn't stop buzzing. But there wasn't a single word from Margot's friends. They knew better than to engage publicly; they were probably in some group chat, strategizing, hyping her up, making me the villain of their story.

I ignored it all. I wasn't playing that game anymore.

Then came the calls—one after another. My parents. Her parents. Even her. I didn't pick up. I wasn't in the mood for lectures or excuses. Instead, I sent a quick text to my folks: [I'll be home tonight. We'll talk then.]

I grabbed a suitcase, throwing in clothes, whatever I could find, just wanting to get out. My mind raced as I packed—how had I let it get this bad? I should've left long ago, but I kept holding on to a version of her that didn't exist.

Just as I was about to leave, I heard tires screeching into the driveway, followed by the slam of a car door. Her footsteps pounded up the walkway. I froze for a second, steeling myself for what was coming.

"Gavin!" she shouted, voice sharp and angry as she burst through the door. "What the hell's wrong with you?! Posting all that online? You want me to look like a fool? What are our parents supposed to think?!" Her voice cracked, frustration bleeding into every word.

I zipped up my suitcase, not even looking at her. I had nothing left to say.

I walked past her, heading straight for the gate. But she grabbed my arm, yanking me back. "What do you want, huh?!" she screamed, her face contorting in anger. "I told you, once I have this baby, it's over with him! I'm doing this for you!"

The last two words rang in my ears, and I couldn't take it anymore—I slapped her.

The sound hung in the air, shocking both of us. She stumbled back, eyes wide in disbelief. I didn't care. I was shaking with anger, my words spilling out in a rush.

"Stop giving me that 'for me' bullshit, Margot!" My voice cracked, and years of pent-up frustration poured out. I took a deep breath before spitting out, "Ivy was right. You should follow your heart. Why stick with me when you can have your first love? Come on, just go on with your unfinished business!"

I could barely contain the bitterness in my tone. "I've already sent you the divorce papers. Sign them."

I pulled my arm free from her grip, opened the door, and left without another word. Her voice followed me down the driveway, screaming, "You're gonna regret this!"

Regret? No. The only regret I had was not leaving sooner. She had dragged me through years of humiliation, and I let her. But not anymore. Walking away from her was the best decision I'd ever made.

When I arrived at my parents' villa, Mom was waiting at the door. Her eyes were swollen from crying, but she pulled me into a tight hug, sobbing into my shoulder. "I told you... I knew she wasn't right for you."

Dad stood behind her, always the quiet type, giving me a nod. "Divorcing her is the right move, son," he said simply.

They had never liked Margot. They always said she didn't love me. But back then, I couldn't hear any of it. I had chased her for seven years, and when she finally agreed to be with me, I was convinced I could make her fall in love.

But I couldn't. Now, here I was, standing on the edge of divorce. I'd spent a decade chasing after something that was never real.

You can't force love, and I learned that the hard way.

Days passed, and she still hadn't signed the papers. I had to threaten her with a lawsuit before she finally texted me.

"I'll pick you up tomorrow, okay? I'll get Ivy and the others to apologize. Just stop making this a big deal. I'm exhausted. Between Hunter and you, I don't know what to do anymore. I'm sorry, alright? But I'm pregnant, Gavin. I can't deal with this stress right now—I don't want to lose the baby."

It was classic Margot. She acted like she didn't know who to choose, but deep down, we both knew. It was always him. Every. Single. Time.

In fact, on our wedding day, she left me to console him after a fight with his wife. On our anniversary, she ditched me to celebrate his birthday. Even on my birthday, she ran off to toast his promotion. Every moment that should've been ours was his. Every holiday, she bought gifts in pairs—one for me and one for him—like this ridiculous balancing act she was trying to pull.

But her love for him always weighed

I had complained countless times, the words almost mechanical, like a script, I could recite in my sleep. It didn't matter how serious I was, how much I begged Margot to stop prioritizing Hunter. But she'd always meet me with the same blank stare, the same careless wave of her hand.

"You're being petty again. Stop acting so jealous." She'd say it like my emotions were a nuisance she had to endure like my feelings were this trivial detail she couldn't be bothered to acknowledge. Every time, I'd feel smaller. Every time, I'd get quieter, retreating into myself.

But even now, I couldn't shake the irony—the fact that out of everything we shared, the happiest moment was the day I proposed. That memory felt so distant, almost like it had happened to another couple, not us.

We had taken a trip to Everridge, 4,000 meters up in the mountains. The air was so thin that every breath felt like it was filling me with hope. The sky—God, the sky—was like a vast canvas, deep and endless, covered in stars that seemed so close you could just reach up and grab one.

That night, I had it all planned out. I led her to this secluded spot away from the city lights, where the mountains loomed large, and the world felt impossibly big. She was wrapped in a thick scarf, her cheeks pink from the cold, her eyes wide as she looked at the stars.

I dropped to one knee, pulling out the ring I'd saved for. Her breath caught, and for a split second, she looked at me like I was the only person in her world. She wasn't thinking about Hunter. She wasn't thinking about anyone but me. "Will you m-marry me?" I asked, my voice shaky, full of anticipation and hope.

Her eyes glistened, and she nodded before whispering yes. That yes echoed in my mind, over and over again, like a promise. She had looked so genuine at that moment like she truly believed in our future. I had never felt more certain about anything in my life. I slipped the ring on her finger, and she kissed me under that sky, and for a brief moment, everything was perfect. It was the kind of moment you think about for years, the kind you expect to hold onto when times get tough.

But that memory—our memory—had started to feel like a lie. Every time she left me for him, every time she made me feel small, it chipped away at the person I thought I'd married.

Now, standing here, my phone buzzing incessantly in my hand, that perfect night felt like a cruel joke. She'd sent her last text, the one where she played victim, blaming her pregnancy for her indecisiveness. When I didn't reply, the phone lit up with her name, the ringing loud and sharp in the silent room.

I stared at it, the name Margot flashing across the screen, my thumb hovering over the reject button.

I could hear her voice in my head, rising with every unanswered ring. Her anger, her frustration, the blame she'd heap on me for daring to step away. I imagined her pacing in some room, phone clutched in her hand, screaming about how I was overreacting, about how I was blowing this all.

My fingers curled around the phone, the ringing cutting through the silence like a blade until I picked it up.

"Gavin," Margot's voice slid through the phone, calm and unbothered, as if the whirlwind of comments and calls from earlier in the week hadn't happened. "I've got a restaurant booked. Everyone's gonna apologize to you. Let's just move on, okay?"

I took a deep breath, my mind racing. "Is Hunter gonna be there?"

There was a pause like she was calculating her words, before she replied, "Yeah."

"Cool. Pick me up tomorrow," I said. If they wanted to apologize, then it shouldn't just be about me. Everyone needed to own up to their parts in this mess.

The next day, I heard a knock on the door. Margot was waiting while Hunter was already sitting in the front seat. He turned around with that sheepish grin of his. "Hey, sorry, dude. I get carsick, so I had to sit up front."

I forced a smile that felt more like a grimace. "No biggie."

The old me would've been fuming—picturing the two of them laughing it up on the drive while I sat in the back, seething. But now? I couldn't care less. They could do whatever they wanted.

It was almost comical how Hunter only seemed to get carsick when Margot was behind the wheel. Any other driver, and his 'problem' vanished like magic. But whatever. I wasn't here to pick fights over a seat.

By the time we arrived at the restaurant, Margot's friends were already seated, all pretending to wait for us. Their faces were a mix of feigned innocence and guilty anticipation. As we entered, I could sense the collective tension in the air, a thick fog of unspoken words and half-hearted apologies.

Ivy was the first to break the ice, her smile too wide and practiced as she gestured for me to join her at the table. "Come on, Gavin, sit here. I owe you a proper apology."

Her tone didn't match her smile; it felt more like a dare.

Once we settled in, Ivy filled my glass with wine, raising hers in an awkward toast. She tipped her head back, downing her drink like it was water, then turned to me with a smirk. "Look, Gavin, I'm a pretty straightforward person, so I'll just be real with you. Yeah, I think you're kind of beneath my best friend. But hey, it's her choice. So, for her sake, I'll apologize."

She filled her glass again, chuckling a little too hard. "Let's drink to that! Sorry for whatever I said last time." Then she slammed back another drink, enjoying her bravado.

The others jumped in with their half-hearted apologies, sounding like they were reading from a script.

As the tension lingered, Margot stepped in, eager to shift the focus from the uncomfortable atmosphere. "Alright, folks, why don't we now?" she urged, but I sensed her discomfort.

Then Hunter stood up, juice in hand, looking at me with forced seriousness. "Hey, Gavin, I owe you an apology too. I know Margot helping me has really messed with you."

Before he could say more, Margot shot him a look and pulled him back down. "You didn't do anything wrong, Hunter. No need to apologize."

Her gaze turned serious as she faced me. "I messed up. I'm sorry."

I nodded, keeping it cool. "It's all good. But honestly, there's someone else who deserves an apology from you guys."

Just as I finished speaking, the door to the private room swung open, revealing a woman in a sharp business suit, her presence composed and commanding.