Dan and I had been a DINK couple for ten years, but then he cheated. Now, his little fling, Cassie, stands there, belly out, saying, “If you don’t want to have kids, then give him up!” I was a little dazed, remembering why I chose the DINK life in the first place. Oh, right—it was when we had that premarital health screening, and Dan’s results came back: infertile, naturally. I hid the report to protect his pride and pretended I didn’t like kids, suggesting we just not have any. Dan looks at me, face full of guilt. “Laura, you’re the one I love, but my parents are getting older. I really want a child.” So, I divorced him calmly. Now I wonder—when should I finally send him that report I kept hidden? Cassie Lane, Dan’s little fling. I knew her too—a fresh-faced college grad who just started as the receptionist at his company. I was hardly surprised when I got her call. In the coffee shop, she sat down, belly proudly protruding. “You can see I’m pregnant—this baby is Dan’s,” she declared. “I heard you insisted on being a DINK. You’re so selfish! If you don’t want kids, don’t ruin Dan’s chances!” “If you don’t want kids, then make room for someone who does!” I felt dizzy, wondering again why I ever suggested we be a DINK couple. Ah, right—it was at the premarital screening. Dan’s results had shown he was naturally infertile, and I wanted to spare him the shame, so I hid the report and lied, pretending not to want kids. I looked at Cassie’s face, my expression complicated. Then I let my gaze rest on the coffee in front of her. “Since you’re pregnant, maybe switch to milk.” With that, I got up and left. Back home, I dug through the back of my closet until I found that old report. I spent $40 consulting a doctor online, asking if there was any way to treat Dan’s condition. The answer was no. Seeing my parents’ confused expressions, I laughed freely, feeling lighter than I had in years. Dan’s cheating didn’t surprise me—I’d known for a while. He hadn’t hidden it very well. First, there were the unexplained messages, then all his late nights at the office, and then the obvious: perfume that wasn’t mine on his clothes, movie tickets, and a lipstick under his car’s passenger seat. I’d thought about confronting him, making a scene, but ultimately I did nothing. After ten years, our once-fiery love had worn down, little by little, into nothing more than mundane routines, endless arguments about children with his parents, and Dan’s growing impatience with me. If anything was worth holding on to, it was that he’d once agreed to our DINK life. But after finding out about his affair, that felt meaningless. One evening after dinner, I finally spoke up. “Cassie came to see me a few days ago.” He looked over at me, not even flinching, and replied with a calm “Oh.” That dismissive “Oh” broke the last of my hesitation. “We should get a divorce,” I told him. And we started the process. I didn’t want the house; he gave me half its value in cash, plus some savings. Altogether, I walked away with about $300,000. I knew he’d drained all his little company’s funds to gather that money. On the day of the divorce, Dan said, “Laura, I love you, but my parents are old, and I really want a child.” Every word implied that even though he cheated, it somehow wasn’t really his fault. I nodded, acting like I understood completely. But inside, I was just waiting for the right time to let him know the truth. Outside the courthouse, Cassie waited, flaunting her belly again. She held a slip with a waiting number for the marriage license office. Dan noticed me eyeing it. “A marriage license makes things easier when the baby comes,” he explained. I smirked. “Don’t worry, it’s none of my business.” “Congratulations,” I told Cassie. Dan, smiling, added, “Thank you, Laura.” Cassie scoffed and yanked his arm. “Can’t you hear them calling our number? It’s our turn!” I watched them walk into the office, then took a cab straight to the airport. Newly single, financially comfortable—I deserved a good time! 2 I flew to Savannah, Georgia, a place I’d always dreamed of visiting. Strolling through the historic district along its old cobblestone alleyways, with the sea breeze blowing and good food in hand, everything about Dan faded into the background. I spent one night at a local tavern, sipping wine and chatting with a few men who struck up conversation, laughing until I was pleasantly tipsy. I was tempted to pursue a fling, but in the end, I chickened out. On my way back, a sound stopped me. In a quiet corner of an alley, a man sat on the steps, covering his face, clearly crying. Under the streetlight, his wedding band gleamed faintly. Maybe it was the wine, but I found myself blurting, “Your wife cheated on you? What’s there to cry about?” I patted his shoulder, telling him, “Look at me—my husband cheated, and I’m still happy as can be!” The man looked up, his face wet with tears, and glared at me. “My wife didn’t cheat on me.” “Oh.” I let out an awkward laugh. Half an hour later, I knew his name and his story, and I had a crazy thought. “How would you feel about marrying me?” The man, Elliot Shaw, was also from the States and, as it happened, from the same city as me. He and his late wife had both wanted kids, but her heart condition made pregnancy too dangerous, so they’d decided to adopt. Just when they were ready to start the process, she caught a bad cold, and her weakened heart couldn’t handle it. He’d come to Savannah alone, a trip they were supposed to take together. After I told him my story, he said, “You shouldn’t have lied to him. Maybe things would have turned out differently.” I was silent for a moment, then said, “Maybe. But I never wanted his guilt or gratitude. I just wanted pure love.” Now, I really wanted a child. That was actually another reason I’d come here. At a nearby clinic, they let single women use IVF. But eventually, I’d have to return to the States. Dan’s comment about marriage licenses reminded me that things like school registration and a birth certificate would be simpler with a husband’s name on them. When I bumped into Elliot tonight, I realized I’d found the perfect partner for this plan. I told him, “We could get married. Once all the paperwork for the baby is done, we could divorce. Plus, you wanted to adopt, didn’t you? Single people can’t adopt back home. You help me, and I’ll help you.” I extended my hand. “So? Partners?” After a minute of serious thought, he shook my hand. “Partners.” Elliot went back home, but I stayed in Savannah. After three months, I wasn’t returning alone. I was carrying a little life inside me. When I touched down, jet-lagged and barely settled, I faced my parents’ interrogation. “You’ve got some nerve, doing something this huge without telling us. Do you even think about us anymore?” 3 “Having a baby isn’t some small thing! Do you know what it takes to raise a child? How are you going to handle everything alone?” “Dan’s a jerk. Sure, divorce him. But why ruin your own life? Just because he has a kid, you need one too?” Maybe it was “baby brain” setting in early, but before I could stop myself, I muttered, “Dan’s kid isn’t even his.” The words stopped my mom mid-sentence. “What did you just say?” She leaned forward, and even my dad looked shocked. The secret was out, so I told them everything. “Dan’s infertile. His count is zero. I checked with a doctor—there’s no cure.” My mom’s jaw dropped, then she burst into laughter, tears streaming down her face. My dad joined in, saying, “Serves him right! Karma!” Once they’d finally stopped laughing, my mom asked, “So, that baby of Cassie’s is due any day now. When are you going to tell Dan?” I placed a hand over my stomach. “There’s no rush. The longer he believes it’s his, the more he’ll enjoy being a dad, right?” The deeper Dan’s attachment to that baby, the sweeter it’ll be when he learns the truth. Elliot and I registered our marriage. We signed prenups and a mountain of paperwork to ensure each other’s rights. My mom remarked that we seemed more like business partners than a married couple. She even hinted, “Elliot’s a decent guy. Now that you’re married, why not make it real?” I firmly shut that down. “Mom, I just wanted a baby and a marriage license to make things easier for them later. And to give him a dad on paper. It’s just a formality.” My dad was more understanding. “It’ll be great for the kids and their future, and we get to keep you here with us too.” “Smart thinking, Dad!” I also met the little girl Elliot and his late wife had hoped to adopt, a sweet five-year-old with a heart condition that led her biological parents to abandon her. “She’ll be fine after her surgery,” Elliot assured me. I didn’t try to comfort him. This was just a partnership. Best to set clear boundaries from the start. Three months into my pregnancy, I went to County General to establish care. As I walked out of the appointment, I saw Dan walking down the hall, phone pressed to his ear. “Last night, it happened. He’s here,” he said proudly. “Yeah, a boy—seven and a half pounds.” He smiled as he finished the call, then turned and saw me. “Laura?” “Congratulations,” I said, keeping my voice light. “Looks like you’re a dad.” He cleared his throat, nodding. “Thanks.” Then, after a pause, he asked, “Are you here for…?” I simply said, “For a checkup.” His eyes drifted to the “Assisted Reproduction” sign beside me, and he flashed a look that was half-sympathetic, half-smug. “Well, these days, medicine’s so advanced. Plenty of options for people wanting kids.” I almost laughed. “You’re right,” I said. Though, as he’ll eventually realize, some things even modern medicine can’t fix—like infertility and, apparently, self-delusion. 4
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