Chapter 1

Married for three years under an agreement to never have kids, I finally managed to buy a house of our own.

I was planning to surprise my wife on her birthday, but instead, I was handed an ultrasound report.

"I'm pregnant, but it's not yours. I'm so sorry..."

Not mine.

I stared at that text, reading it over and over.

To afford this place, I spent three years grinding myself to the bone.

Working overtime until I had stomach ulcers, drinking myself into the ER at client dinners, collapsing from pure exhaustion the second I walked through the door.

And her?

A casual "It's not yours" wiped away every sacrifice I had ever made.

I dialed her number.

She picked up almost instantly: "I know I messed up. Whatever you want, I'll agree to it."

I took a deep breath and asked:

"Anything I want?"

"Yes."

"Then we get a divorce. And you walk away without a single dime."

The line went dead silent for a few seconds.

She probably never expected me to demand that she leave with nothing.

"Okay."

Clara's voice was barely a whisper.

"I agree."

I gave a quiet chuckle.

"Goodbye, then."

The moment the words left my lips, I hung up.

I looked down at the official house deed in my hands.

It was supposed to be her birthday surprise.

I tossed it into the nightstand drawer.

Then I got up, walked to the kitchen, and poured myself a glass of water.

Clara said she had to take responsibility for the father of the child in her belly.

What about me?

I killed myself for three years for that house.

First one in the office, last one to leave.

Pulled three all-nighters in a row for a single project until my coworkers had to rush me to the hospital for an IV drip.

Drank until my stomach bled, spent a week in a hospital bed, and dragged myself right back to work the day after I was discharged.

To save every penny, I hadn't bought a single new shirt in three years. Didn't take a single vacation.

All to keep the promise I made to her back then.

Where was she?

She was in another man's bed.

Only to come back and tell me she was carrying someone else's kid.

I set the glass in the sink and walked back to the bedroom.

Passing the living room, my eyes caught our framed wedding photo on the wall.

I was twenty-six back then, just starting to get stable in my career. Clara, wrapped in white lace, told me she would love me for the rest of her life.

I bought it.

Looking back now, twenty-six was way too young.

Young enough to believe that promises actually meant something.

I stepped onto the balcony and stood there for a while.

Every night at this exact hour, I used to stand right here, waiting for Clara to come home.

Whenever she worked late, I would stay up and wait. Only when her headlights swept into the driveway would I finally feel at ease enough to sleep.

How pathetic that feels now.

I treated someone like my entire world.

While to her, I was just a backup option.

I went back inside and started doing the math.

I had a pretty good idea of Clara's assets.

She ran a boutique interior design studio, pulling in around three hundred grand a year in profit.

A condo in the East End, the three-bedroom apartment we were currently living in, plus her car.

Add in her savings and investments, and she was sitting on at least over a million dollars.

I lay down on the bed, pulling the duvet up to my chin.

A memory flashed into my head. Last month, my mother-in-law had come over, sitting on our sofa and pressing me.

"You two have been married for five years. Why haven't you started trying for a baby?"

Clara had sat beside her, not uttering a single word.

I had smiled, poured her mom some tea, and took the blame, saying work was crazy and I wanted to hustle for a couple more years.

Her mom had sighed, complaining that Clara wasn't getting any younger and that waiting too long would make pregnancy harder.

Back then, I had told myself: Just give me a little more time. Let me save up a bit more. Once we close on the house, everything will get better.

No need for that anymore.

It was almost funny.

I spent all that time drowning in guilt for not buying a home sooner.

And behind my back, another man had already knocked her up.

Now, only two things mattered to me.

First, secure the money.

Second, start over.

As for the rest, it had nothing to do with me anymore.