Van’s sudden outburst instantly caught everyone’s attention. Murmurs rippled through the room, and no one knew what was about to unfold.
Back in university, I was the good-looking, smart guy admired by many. But I never fell for anyone. Coming from a poor family, I spent all my time doing part-time jobs to cover my tuition and had no energy for romance.
Among the girls who liked me was my classmate, Van. To win me over, she often brought me meals, bought clothes for me, and even covered my tuition at times.
I never truly felt anything for her, but because her family supported my education, I reluctantly agreed to date her.
After graduation, since I wanted to stay in the city, I went along with marrying Van so her parents could help me get a job. But once we lived together, I realized I didn’t love her at all and even felt uncomfortable being physically close to her.
We were married for three years without children. She repeatedly urged me to get examined, but I insisted nothing was wrong with me and refused. By then, I had a solid career and no longer relied on her family. That was when I chose to end that dull marriage to chase what I thought was “real love.”
My cold and distant behavior eventually pushed her away. She finally agreed to sign the divorce papers and let me go. Afterward, I began seeing a beautiful business partner I had admired from afar for a long time. After over a year together, we decided to marry. I didn’t send an invitation to my ex, yet she still showed up at the wedding without hesitation.
The most shocking part was that she arrived with a visible baby bump to congratulate us. Her presence caused a stir, and everyone stared, unsure what was coming next.
When Van approached, she said,
“If I could go back in time, I would never have wasted my youth on a man who didn’t love me and only used my money. My biggest regret was marrying you.”
As she turned to leave, my bride asked with regret in her voice,
“Whose child are you carrying?”
That question stunned me. My ex and I had been divorced for more than a year, so the child clearly wasn’t mine. But then… why hadn’t she ever gotten pregnant during our three years of marriage? Did that mean I was the one who couldn’t have children?
Without making us wait, Van turned back and said,
“For three years, your husband and I couldn’t have children. I asked him to get tested many times, but he always blamed me. However, every time I had tests done, I was perfectly fine. After the divorce, I fell in love with another man. And the first night we were together, I got pregnant.”
Her words shocked my bride so much she dropped her bouquet. I stood there, overwhelmed and speechless.
After Van left, I tried to calm my girlfriend, telling her we should finish the ceremony first. But she refused, saying she wanted to call off the wedding and go with me for a fertility test before deciding anything. She said:
“My brother and his wife were married for nine years without children. They spent a fortune on fertility treatments and still ended up divorcing. I don’t want to repeat their mistake.
A woman’s worth diminishes with each failed marriage; I don’t want my first wedding to be with a man who can’t have children.”
I had no one to blame—not my ex-wife, not my girlfriend.
My downfall came from my own selfish plans and choices. I planted bitterness, and now I’m paying for it. Had I treated my ex-wife with kindness, I wouldn’t be facing such a miserable outcome today.
