– What, you don’t understand anything at all? – James shouted at his wife Emily, unable to contain his rage. – How dare you get pregnant? Who gave you permission? We agreed everything would go according to plan: first the house, then kids. Or do you want to drag a child around rented apartments, huh?
– James, James, please, I don’t even know how it happened.
– She doesn’t know! Doesn’t know? – James threw his hands up. – And what am I supposed to do now? As if it’s not enough that I’m responsible for you, now there’s a kid too!
– What do you mean you’re responsible for me? What are you talking about?
– About the fact that you’re completely dependent on me and think it’s perfectly normal. Everything you have was bought with my money!
– So that’s how you see it? – Emily’s voice trembled. – Fine, then I’ll have this baby for myself and raise it alone! – Unable to continue, Emily turned and walked into the bedroom, closing the door behind her.
The sting of betrayal burned like hot coal: how could he say such things, treat her this way? For five long years, she had done nothing but listen to James, hang on his every word, anticipate his every wish, striving to be not just a good wife but the best. And now, the moment she shared news that didn’t fit his plans, he flew into a rage.
Emily strained to listen: the front door slammed shut. She stepped out and sighed heavily—James was gone. Sinking onto the couch, she broke down, sobbing bitterly and hopelessly, as she had in childhood when other kids at the orphanage, where she grew up, taunted her, small and defenseless.
Meeting James had felt like a small miracle—he, so handsome and successful, was the dream of many girls, yet he chose her.
They met on New Year’s Eve in the town square, where revelers danced and celebrated, mingling without care. James was with his friends, while Emily came alone, her first New Year outside the orphanage walls.
Cheerful and lively, James swept her off her feet, and she spent the entire holiday with him, though she kept her boundaries firm. It was her inaccessibility that won him over, and within six months, they were married.
Five years had passed since then. Only now did Emily begin to see she was trapped in a gilded cage: she was allowed only what James wanted and loved, while her desires were dismissed as trivial, unimportant, foolish. Still, she loved him, trusted him, and valued him for pulling her out of constant poverty—and for proving his love by marrying her against his parents’ wishes.
Exhausted by memories, Emily fell asleep, but James didn’t return that night. He lingered at a bar, then moved to a club. There, a woman approached him, and he spent the rest of the night with her, cheating on his wife for the first time.
– Where were you? – Emily asked when James appeared the next morning.
– What’s it to you? – he muttered, unwilling to explain or justify himself.
– James… how could you… – Emily whispered.
She understood everything, guessed it all; no explanation was needed.
– What did you expect from me? You’ve frayed my nerves, and now you’re playing the victim? Spare me, darling. We’re adults, and I want you to get this straight once and for all. And one more thing: as long as I’m supporting you, things will be my way. Personally, I don’t need a kid right now. I want to live for myself, not deal with the problems a child will bring. So, here’s the money; you have an appointment at one o’clock. I’ve arranged it. The abortion will be quick and without complications. Just be a good girl.
Emily stayed silent. James looked at her, leaned in to kiss her, but she turned away. He smirked, went to the bathroom, changed, and left for work.
When he returned, Emily and her belongings were gone. On the nightstand lay the money he’d left for the abortion. On one bill, she had written: “Buy yourself a conscience.”
A year passed. James continued living for his own pleasure, though he missed Emily and the comfort she’d provided. His new girlfriends were different, unwilling to commit, and their fleeting relationships began to wear on him.
One morning, he stepped out of his apartment and saw a baby carrier with a sleeping infant. Tucked to the side was a note:
– This is Ethan. If you can, take him to the orphanage yourself.
James froze, then rushed downstairs—no one. He climbed back up—silence. Bringing the carrier inside, he clutched his head. He understood: Emily had given birth to a son and left him at his door because of how he’d treated them. She must have been destitute, unable to raise a child alone, and found this way out.
But what was he to do with the baby? The infant stirred and cried. James stared, dumbfounded, realizing there was nothing—no bottle, no pacifier, no diapers. Leaving the baby alone, he rushed to the pharmacy for newborn essentials.
The first three days were hell for the new father. He barely slept, couldn’t keep up, and understood nothing. Somehow, he bathed the baby, rocked him to sleep while pacing the apartment, and learned to mix formula. But on the fourth day, he broke. Packing Ethan’s things, he placed him in the carrier and drove seventy miles to an orphanage, planning to arrive near evening to leave the baby unnoticed.
He drove, convinced he was doing the right thing, but at the orphanage door, he hesitated. Setting the carrier down, he turned and walked to his car. After ten steps, he spun around and ran back to his son.
Minutes later, they were driving home. James fed and changed the boy, then broke down, sobbing, realizing he was broken and would never be the same.
Months passed. A kind elderly nanny watched Ethan during the day; evenings, James rushed home to him. He’d long since registered the child, paying handsomely to ensure everything went smoothly. He tried to find Emily but couldn’t and assumed she’d left the city for good.
When Ethan turned six months old, tragedy struck—the boy fell gravely ill. Doctors discovered a serious condition with a grim prognosis. James nearly lost his mind. He sold everything—his property, business, car—took on debts and loans, but managed to save Ethan, funding his treatment abroad.
Returning to the U.S., James realized he’d have to start over. For a long time, he worked as a security guard, then as a driver for a wealthy businessman. The pay was good, and he slowly repaid his debts, rebuilding his life.
He dated a few women, but none wanted to care for Ethan, demanding his attention instead.
– Listen, – one said, – if you want, I’ll have your kids, but I’m not thrilled about dealing with your son.
– He’s little, he’s been sick a long time—don’t you feel sorry for him?
– Sure, I do, but I can’t help it. Don’t believe any woman will love another’s child like her own.
Still, James hoped he’d find someone who would. When Ethan was six, James began looking for preschool prep courses and met a woman who’d chosen a program for her daughter.
– You know, – she suggested, – I found a great teacher who works with any child. Want her number? You could sign up too.
– Thanks so much, I’ll call right now.
The response was quick, and within an hour, James was invited for an interview. He hurried to the address but froze upon entering the center: standing before him was his ex-wife, Emily.
– You? You? – he stammered. – How? What are you doing here?
– I work here.
– So that’s it? You happily raise other people’s kids but abandoned your own? You heartless woman! Do you even know what I went through to get our son back on his feet? Ethan was sick, and while you were off enjoying yourself, I—I took care of him! I sold everything, racked up debts I’m still paying! And you lived your life without a thought to check if we needed help! You’re despicable, Emily, absolutely despicable! And I don’t want you near our child. Ethan is my son!
Furious, James turned to leave, but Emily’s quiet voice stopped him:
– No, James! You’re wrong! Ethan isn’t your son and can’t be, because that night, I gave birth to a daughter.
– What? What did you say?
– It was my revenge, James. You always thought only of yourself, loved only yourself. Need I remind you how you insisted on an abortion, planning to get rid of our child? And you never respected me, spending time with other women, oblivious to my pain. I left to save my baby, and when the time came, I gave birth to a beautiful girl, Lily.
In the hospital, my old friend from the orphanage was giving birth too. She had it worse than me. She had Ethan with some married man but didn’t survive the delivery. I took her son, nursed both babies for the first months, then decided to give him to you. I wanted you to feel what it’s like to abandon or reject your own child. And you didn’t abandon him.
I watched you. I saw you drive to the orphanage and return with him. Holding him, you couldn’t leave him behind. I’ll admit, I was surprised—I didn’t think you’d manage, that you wouldn’t break. But you did. And I’m glad I did it. But now you face a choice again. You know Ethan isn’t your son. What will you do now? Keep raising him as your own? Or abandon him?
– The note? There was a note! I remember it word for word—you wrote that Ethan was my son.
– It said: This is Ethan. If you can, take him to the orphanage yourself. You assumed he was your son.
– You… you’re so… cruel… – James said, disbelieving.
– Yes. But you made me this way. I won’t bore you with tales of my tears and sleepless nights. Don’t think my life was grand. Like you, I went through hell, but unlike you, I had no job, no home, no money.
For a long time, I lived on child support, then bought a cheap old laptop, wrote papers for hire, and became an online tutor. Slowly, things picked up, and now I’ve opened preschool prep courses. That’s how you made me strong. You, James, often accused me of being a burden. Now I don’t need you. Neither does our daughter.
– I want to see Lily.
– Fine. Here’s my address, – Emily wrote down a street and house number on a slip of paper and handed it to James.
James took it and left, stunned, overwhelmed, crushed by what had happened. For years, he’d been a fool, an utter fool. They’d played him, tricked him, humiliated him. How stupid, how utterly stupid!
At home, he flung his keys onto the nightstand in frustration, then turned and met Ethan’s gaze, the boy standing in the doorway.
– What’s wrong, Dad? Are you upset?
– No, my dear, – James hugged his son, realizing he’d made his choice again. – Get ready; we’re going to visit someone.
An hour later, they stood at Emily’s door. Smiling, she invited them in.
– Dad, who’s this? – Ethan asked, wide-eyed, staring at the beautiful woman with kind eyes.
– This, son, is your mom! And now she’ll introduce us to your sister and my daughter.
– James! – Emily gasped.
– Yes, my dear! – James leaned in, whispering playfully in her ear:
– This is my revenge! Especially since we never divorced. You’ll have to live with us, and now I’m never letting you go. And one more thing, – he added seriously, – thank you for our daughter… and our son!
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