For years, I dreamed of holding a positive pregnancy test. When the moment finally came, I was ecstatic, imagining Clay’s joy. I sent him a message, excited to share the news, but he didn’t respond. The next morning, I found a Kinder Surprise at the door. Inside wasn’t a toy but a note: “I’m divorcing you.”
Devastated, I sought answers. Clay’s mother accused me of infidelity, citing his supposed infertility. Memories of a night where I’d passed out after eating alcohol-laced chocolate haunted me. Desperate for clarity, I confronted the stranger from that night, George, who assured me nothing happened. A visit to our doctor revealed Clay wasn’t infertile—he had lied to push me away.
George became my rock during my divorce. Months later, he proposed, and I found peace. When our daughter was born, I finally understood what true family meant.
