My Husband Pretend to Be Single

I traced my finger over the ultrasound image, marveling at the tiny bean-shaped outline that was our baby. Twelve weeks along, and already I felt a connection so profound it made my chest ache with love. The morning sickness that had plagued me for weeks seemed a small price to pay for this miracle.

"Look, Marcus! You can almost see the profile here." I held up the ultrasound photo, tilting it toward the kitchen light where my husband sat hunched over his laptop, his coffee growing cold beside him. "Dr. Chen says everything looks perfect. Healthy heartbeat, proper growth..."

Marcus glanced up briefly, offering a distracted smile that didn't reach his eyes. "That's great, Em."

I lowered the photo, trying not to let disappointment dim my excitement. "So, I scheduled the next appointment for Thursday at two. It's the big one where we might find out the gender. You'll be able to come, right?"

His fingers paused over the keyboard. I watched his shoulders tense slightly before he turned to face me, his expression apologetic but firm. "Thursday? I don't think I can make it. The Westfield project is in its final stages, and—"

"But you missed the last two appointments," I said, hating the pleading note in my voice. "This is important, Marcus. It's our baby."

"And this is my career, Emma." His tone sharpened. "The career that's going to support this family you're so eager to start. Alexander is watching this project closely. If I nail it, I could be looking at a promotion."

I bit my lip, nodding slowly. "I understand. It's just... other husbands seem to make time for these things."

"Other husbands aren't on the verge of becoming senior account managers," he replied, softening his voice as he stood and approached me. He placed his hands on my shoulders, pressing a quick kiss to my forehead. "I promise I'll make it up to you. Once this project is wrapped up, I'll be at every appointment, every lamaze class, everything."

I wanted to believe him. I always wanted to believe him.

"Maybe we could start thinking about names?" I suggested, desperate to create some connection between Marcus and the life growing inside me.

He checked his watch. "I really need to get going. Traffic's going to be brutal." He grabbed his suit jacket from the back of the chair. "We'll talk names soon, okay? Love you."

And then he was gone, the door clicking shut behind him, leaving me alone with my ultrasound photos and baby name book.

---

Thursday arrived with gray skies and a persistent drizzle that matched my mood. I sat in the waiting room of the maternity ward, surrounded by couples holding hands, whispering excitedly to each other as they waited for their appointments. A man across from me had his arm around his partner, his hand resting protectively over her rounded belly. They laughed about something private, their foreheads nearly touching.

I scrolled through my phone, checking again for a message from Marcus. Nothing. Not even a 'good luck' text.

"Emma Chen?" The nurse called, and I rose, gathering my purse and jacket.

That's when I saw them.

At first, I thought my mind was playing tricks. A stress-induced hallucination, perhaps. But as I took a few steps forward, I realized my eyes weren't deceiving me.

Marcus—my husband, who was supposedly buried in work at the office—stood near the reception desk. His arm was wrapped tenderly around a slender woman with glossy dark hair and a noticeable baby bump. She leaned into him, laughing at something he said, her manicured hand resting on his chest with casual intimacy.

My legs turned to lead. The room seemed to tilt sideways.

The woman—beautiful in an intimidating, polished way—looked up at Marcus with adoration. He brushed a strand of hair from her face with the same gentle touch he'd once reserved for me.

"Mr. and Mrs. Wilson?" another nurse called.

The woman raised her hand. "That's us!"

Wilson. He was using his mother's maiden name.

Blood rushed in my ears as I stumbled toward them, my vision tunneling until all I could see was Marcus's face.

"Marcus?" My voice sounded strange, distant.

He turned, and for a split second, recognition flashed in his eyes before they went cold and empty. He looked directly at me with the detached politeness one might offer a stranger.

"I'm sorry," he said smoothly. "Do I know you?"