I always thought my family was strong. But one day, everything collapsed in an instant.

I caught my husband with another woman. He didn’t even try to justify himself or apologize. Instead, he had the audacity to blame me.

“It’s your fault. You’ve stopped being a woman for me. You don’t take care of yourself, but work all day.”

Those words felt like a death sentence. But the worst part? Even his family supported him. My mother, the one I expected to console me, said:

“All men cheat, accept it.”

That was the final straw. Anger, humiliation, and resentment boiled inside me.

Then a wild thought appeared—revenge. To hurt him in the most cruel way: by cheating with the first person I met. Not out of love, not out of desire, but out of anger.

I went outside and put my plan into motion.

The first man I saw was sitting on the sidewalk, dressed in shabby clothes. He had a bun in his hands, eating it as if it were the most precious meal in the world.

“How angry he’ll be when he finds out I preferred a homeless man over him,” I thought, a bitter smile curling on my lips.

And indeed, my husband was furious when he learned everything. Our marriage collapsed completely, and we divorced.

Soon after, I discovered I was pregnant.

The father was that same man from the street.

At first, I considered ending the pregnancy. I couldn’t imagine raising a “homeless son.” But gradually, something changed in me. A strange warmth arose in my chest—as if this child had been given to me by fate. I decided to keep him.

Nine months passed like a single day. The moment finally came—I arrived at the maternity hospital. But when the doctor examined me, something shocking came to light.

In the office, I saw a familiar face. It was him. The same man. Only he was no longer dirty and exhausted—he was in a white coat, collected and confident.

He recognized me too.

It turned out that on the day I met him, he had just finished a grueling night shift. Tired and drained, he had sat on the street, taking out a bun to eat a quick snack. I had mistaken him for a homeless man… but he was actually a doctor at this hospital.

I didn’t know where to hide my shame. But he calmly said:

“Don’t worry, everything will be fine. I will help you.”

And indeed, he delivered the baby as if he were holding fate itself in his hands. There was no judgment or anger in his gaze—only steady care and determination.

After the birth, he didn’t turn away. He acknowledged his son, officially registered paternity, provided support, and always found time for the baby.

Gradually, I realized that the “homeless man” I once met on the street had become the only real man in my life. My husband, family, and friends had all betrayed me. Yet this stranger became the father and support my child—and I—truly needed.