Chapter 1

My wife was pregnant, but instead of being happy, I was deeply worried.

Before going to sleep, I was scrolling through an anonymous parenting forum on my phone when a trending post caught my eye:

[My husband won't let me keep my childhood best friend's baby. Isn't this a severe violation of my reproductive rights?]

The poster poured her heart out in the thread, her words dripping with self-pity and grievance.

[The doctor said my progesterone levels are low, my HCG doubling is terrible, and the gestational sac is attached right next to my old C-section scar.]

[If the pregnancy continues, it could cause a massive hemorrhage and threaten my life. That’s why my husband is dead set against it.]

[But he doesn't understand. This baby is the only piece of my childhood best friend I have left. How can I force my husband to willingly step up and raise this child as his own?]

The comment section below was wild, but one top-voted reply made shivers run down my spine:

[Girl, don't go head-to-head with a man like that. You need to crush his confidence from the root.]

[Secretly slip some male fertility suppressants into his daily coffee or water, then trick him into getting a fertility checkup. Once he gets a report saying he has a zero sperm count, he’ll be devastated.]

[That’s when you tell him you’re willing to risk your life just to give him a biological child. He will worship the ground you and that baby walk on!]

Staring at the malicious scheme on my screen, cold sweat broke out across my back.

Just then, the bedroom door opened. My wife walked in, holding a warm glass of milk.

"Babe, you've been stressing so much over my health lately. Look at you, you're getting gray hair. Here, drink this warm milk and get some rest."

"When you have a day off, let's go get a checkup together. If God doesn't want to take away my chance of being a mother, please don't stop me from keeping the baby, okay?"

Looking at Chloe's hopeful, innocent face, the icy wall around my heart slightly softened.

Maybe those toxic forum posts are just some internet strangers' drama, I thought.

The Chloe I knew was someone who would stop to feed every stray cat on the street. How could she be the venomous woman from that post?

I took the warm glass of milk and drank it in one gulp.

"Fine, we can do the checkup," I said, putting the empty glass on the nightstand. "But we have a deal. If the doctor says your body can't handle it, you have to listen to me."

Hearing this, Chloe leaned obediently into my chest.

"Okay, I'll listen to you. I just don't want to live with regrets."

Three days later, we went to a high-end private clinic downtown.

Chloe said she had booked an appointment with a top specialist.

After the blood draws, ultrasounds, and various tests, we sat in the waiting area, waiting for the results.

Twenty minutes later, a nurse walked over with two folders.

"Mr. Vance, Mrs. Vance, here are your medical reports. Dr. Hayes is waiting for you in his office."

I took the reports, habitually opening mine first.

Having worked in the medical device industry for nearly eight years, I was more than familiar with these lab sheets.

But when my eyes scanned down to the semen analysis column, I froze.

Sperm density: 8x10^6/ml. Progressive motility (Class A): 5%.

Conclusion: Severe Oligozoospermia (Infertility).

Chloe leaned over to look, and her eyes instantly welled up with tears.

"Babe... what does this mean?"

She covered her mouth, tears streaming down her face.

Inside the office, Dr. Hayes sighed heavily.

"Mr. Vance, your situation is not looking good. The chances of natural conception are practically zero."

"Although Mrs. Vance's pregnancy is in a highly risky position due to the scar tissue, this baby might be your only chance to ever have a biological child."

"If you terminate this pregnancy, conceiving again in the future will be near impossible."

Chloe sobbed even harder, clutching my arm tightly.

"Ethan, I'm not afraid of the danger! I must have this baby for you!"

"Even if it costs me my life, I won't let our family name end with us!"

Her voice cracked with emotion, every word dripping with profound devotion.

But as I stared at the report in my hands, my mind became unnaturally calm.

There was something wrong with this paper.

In the lab equipment model column, it read: CX-9000.

That was an automated analyzer our company had launched just last year. Currently, only the City Memorial Hospital had purchased one in the entire state.

This private clinic didn't even own this machine.

Furthermore, the signing pathologist at the bottom of the report was a name I recognized: Dr. Liam Henderson.

If I remembered correctly, Dr. Henderson was the chief of urology at City Memorial Hospital. Why on earth would he be signing off on lab reports for a small private clinic?

I folded the report and slipped it back into the envelope.

"Let's go home first," I said, my voice completely flat.

Chloe blinked, slightly caught off guard.

"Babe, don't be sad. Medical technology is so advanced now. We'll find a way."

She carefully observed my expression, trying to read me.

"I'm not sad," I said, looking straight into her eyes. "I'm just thinking... God really loves playing jokes on us."

Back home, Chloe claimed she was dizzy and went to the bedroom to rest.

I sat on the living room couch, pulled out my phone, and searched for that anonymous post from the other night.

It had been updated.

The details mentioned in the post—low progesterone, bad HCG doubling, gestational sac attached to the C-section scar—were an exact, identical match to Chloe's medical condition.

And the top-voted comment about drugging the husband and forging an infertility report matched today's events with terrifying precision.

A coincidence? There was no such thing as a perfect coincidence in this world.

Thinking back to the warm milk Chloe had given me, a bitter taste rose in my throat.