For years, I dreamed of that moment—a positive pregnancy test in my hands.
I couldn’t wait to tell Clay, imagining his joy.
But instead of celebrating, I found a Kinder Surprise at the door.
Inside wasn’t a toy, but a note that shattered my world: “I’m divorcing you.”
I had dreamed of this moment for years. Every second of waiting for the test result felt like a lifetime.
I paced around the bathroom, clutching the stick, my palms damp with sweat.
What if it’s negative again?
What if I’m only imagining symptoms?
But the moment I saw those two lines appear, everything else disappeared.
Tears blurred my vision as joy overwhelmed me. I whispered to myself, “Finally. It’s real.
It’s happening.”
My hands trembled so badly that I almost dropped the test. Sitting on the edge of the bed, I stared at it, letting the realization sink in. After years of trying, after countless heartbreaks—that was my moment.
“Clay is going to be so happy,” I said aloud.
I quickly grabbed my phone, snapped a photo of the test, and sent it to him.
I hesitated before hitting send.
Maybe I should wait to tell him in person? Make it special?
But the excitement was too much to contain.
My message read:
“I have the best news. Call me when you can!”
Hours passed.
No reply. I checked my phone obsessively.
Maybe he’s in a meeting.
By the time the evening came, I called his phone. Nobody answered.
I sent more texts, all unanswered.
I tried to stay calm, convincing myself that he was just busy. Still, the loneliness in our empty house felt unbearable as I went to bed without him.
***
The next morning, I woke from a faint rustling sound at the door. I opened it to find a Kinder Surprise egg.
A smile broke across my face.
He’s making up for last night.
I cracked it open eagerly, expecting a sweet note or small gift. Instead, a single piece of paper unfolded in my hands.
“I’m divorcing you.”
The words stared back at me, stark and cruel. My legs gave way as I sank to the floor.
How could he?
Why now?
***
My MIL, Margaret, had been staying with us for some time. Ever since her health started to decline, Clay insisted she move in. It hadn’t been easy sharing a space with her.
Margaret had a way of making her presence felt in every corner of the house.
That morning, as she shuffled into the kitchen, her slippers scuffing softly against the floor, I barely looked up. I was sitting at the table, clutching the note, my knuckles white with tension.
“Emma,” she began, her voice unusually soft, “what’s wrong? You look pale.”
Her concern caught me off guard.
Margaret was rarely gentle with me, but for a fleeting moment, I thought maybe she could offer some comfort.
“It’s Clay,” I said, my voice trembling. “He… he left me.”
Her eyebrows knitted together in what seemed like genuine concern. “Left you?
Why? That doesn’t sound like him.”
She pulled out a chair and sat down, her hand resting lightly on mine. “What happened?”
I hesitated, unsure if I could trust her.
But the words poured out anyway.
“I’m pregnant,” I said, tears brimming in my eyes. “I thought he’d be happy. But instead… he left this.”
Margaret’s initial sympathy vanished so quickly it was almost jarring.
She sat up straighter, her eyes narrowing. “Pregnant? That’s impossible.”
I blinked.
“What do you mean?”
“My son can’t have children,” she stated sharply. “The doctors told him years ago. That means only one thing.
You betrayed him.”
“No!” I said, shaking my head. “That’s not true. I would never…”
Her lips thinned as she interrupted.
“Don’t lie to me, Emma. Two weeks ago, you didn’t come home. That’s your answer, isn’t it?
You were with someone else.”
I sat frozen, the memory of that night surfacing against my will…
***
Two weeks ago, I visited Sarah, desperate for a break. We’d laughed and talked for hours, but then Sarah got sick. A kind stranger had helped us, offering a ride when I lost my wallet.
I ate a piece of chocolate and felt dizzy.
Then everything went blank. Everything after that became a blur. I woke up on his couch, disoriented and mortified.
I bolted from his house without saying a word, desperate to leave that embarrassing moment behind.
I had convinced myself nothing happened, that it wasn’t worth remembering. I never told anyone, not even Clay. It felt easier to pretend it hadn’t happened.
***
Returning to the present, I shivered as the memory resurfaced.
Margaret’s glare burned into me.
“Nothing happened,” I whispered.
But the doubt had already taken root.
I need to find out the truth, no matter how much it hurts.
Clay finally came home late in the evening. I had been sitting on the couch, staring at the door, my heart pounding every time I thought I heard footsteps outside. When the lock finally clicked, I jumped to my feet.
His face was marked with confusion, maybe even hesitation.
“Clay,” I began, my voice cracking from the strain of hours spent crying. “We need to talk.”
He didn’t respond right away; just set his keys on the counter and avoided my eyes.
“I got your messages.” he finally said.
“Clay, it’s yours,” I said, stepping closer. “But your cruel joke with the Kinder… Why did you do that to me?”
His face darkened.
“Emma, stop it! I don’t know anything about that. Why are you making this up?
I’m infertile. You’ve cheated. It’s over.”
Before I could respond, Margaret’s sharp voice cut through the tension.
“Enough of this nonsense! The Kinder egg was from me.”
Both Clay and I turned to her, equally shocked.
“What?” Clay said, his voice rising. “Mom, what are you talking about?”
Margaret sighed dramatically, brushing a hand through her perfectly styled hair.
“I thought she’d take the hint and leave before you got back. I underestimated her stubbornness.”
My mouth fell open. Clay’s face turned red as he turned to me.
“You visited “friend” two weeks ago.
Do you think I’m stupid?”
Tears streamed down my face as I tried to defend myself. “Clay, please, listen to me! Nothing happened that night.
I can explain everything.”
But he wasn’t listening. His voice grew louder with every word. “I will never accept this child, Emma!
Get out!”
“It’s for the best, Clay,” Margaret said, her voice dripping with satisfaction. “You deserve better.”
That was it. I couldn’t take any more.
I found my documents, grabbed some money, and rushed to the door.
***
Hours later, I left Sarah’s cramped apartment, my suitcase still half-packed and my mind buzzing with questions I couldn’t ignore any longer. I had to face the man from that night to piece together the fragments of a memory that refused to settle.
We met at a quiet café. George arrived on time, his calm presence cutting through the storm raging inside me.
He was tall, with a kind but serious demeanor that put me at ease, even though I barely knew him.
As he sat down across from me, I blurted out, “I need to know what happened that night.”
“Emma, I’ve been waiting to explain. You ate a chocolate candy that had alcohol in it. Maybe that’s the reason you passed out in the car.” His voice was steady, but there was a hint of regret in his eyes.
“I didn’t know what else to do, so I brought you to my place to make sure you were safe.”
I stared at him, the pieces clicking into place. My allergy to alcohol! It explained the blackout.
“And… nothing happened?” I asked, my voice barely a whisper.
He shook his head.
“Nothing. You slept on the couch, and when I woke up, you were gone. I didn’t even get the chance to say goodbye.”
Shame flushed my cheeks.
“I’m sorry for running off like that. I was confused and embarrassed.”
George smiled gently. “It’s okay.
I just wanted to make sure you were all right.”
I told him about all my mess. When he offered me a place to stay, it felt like the first piece of stability in days. So, I stayed.
***
The following day, I couldn’t push the questions away any longer.
In my heart, I was certain that the father of my child could only be Clay. But his words, his mother’s accusations, and the haunting shadow of that night made me doubt everything.
I needed answers and trusted only one person to help me find the truth: Mrs. Green, our family doctor.
When I arrived at her office, she immediately noticed something was wrong.
“Emma,” she said softly, motioning me to sit down. “You look like you’ve been crying. What’s going on?”
“I… I need your help,” I stammered.
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