My Wife Lied About Having a “Private Illness” to Avoid Intimacy. When I Consulted a Doctor, I Discovered an Even More Terrifying Secret… After I Hung Up the Phone, Trân Broke Down in Tears and Confessed the Truth.

I’ve only been married for two months. Friends and relatives all told me I was lucky to marry Trân—a gentle, well-mannered girl who worked as an accountant at a big company. When we wed, I wanted nothing more than a warm, peaceful home: someone to wake up with in the morning for exercise, someone to lie beside at night and whisper to before sleep. But life doesn’t always go as planned.

For two whole months—60 long days and nights—I still slept alone, even though my lawful wife was right there in the same room, separated by nothing more than a bed.

After the wedding, Trân said she caught a cold from being too stressed with wedding preparations and hadn’t taken good care of her health. I worried for her, bought medicine, cooked porridge. It took her nearly a week to recover. When I hinted at consummating our marriage, she shyly confessed she had a gynecological infection, and that the doctor told her to abstain. I didn’t doubt her—I just felt sorry for her. My newlywed wife was already unwell, which only made me want to care for her more.

But week after week, excuses piled up: one illness after another, then work stress, fatigue, headaches, insomnia… My doubts began to grow.

I’m not a man who lives only for physical desire, but I am her husband. Being constantly pushed away—feeling like I had no right to touch my own wife—gradually made me uneasy.

I noticed the way Trân avoided my eyes when I entered the bathroom. She always wore loose clothes, avoided any body contact, moving timidly as though hiding something. Some nights I pretended to sleep, only to hear her sigh and turn her face to the wall.

I once wondered if she had been abused in the past, or perhaps carried a condition she couldn’t share. But the more I thought about it, the less sense it made. When we were dating, she had shown no signs of trauma—if anything, she was outgoing, cheerful, lively.

Then, one Tuesday afternoon last week, I came home early and found her slumped over the table, crying into the phone. I froze at the doorway when I heard her say: “I know, but I can’t tell him now. I’m afraid he’ll find out. It’s my fault, but my child is innocent.”

It was like someone poured a bucket of ice water over me. My child? Who was she talking to? Whose child?

That night, I said nothing. I only stared at her for a long time. She, as usual, avoided my gaze and pretended to sleep.

I searched my memory—the wedding day, the engagement party, her shy glances, her mother’s uneasy look. And then I remembered how, over the past two months, Trân had steadily gained weight, stopped wearing the body-hugging dresses she once loved, replacing them with baggy tops and A-line skirts.

My suspicions were becoming clearer. I decided to confront her. Right in front of her, I called and booked a doctor’s appointment.

The moment I hung up, Trân burst into tears and admitted the truth: she didn’t have any gynecological illness—she was pregnant. Nearly three months along. She was terrified that if we were intimate, I’d find out, and she also feared it might harm the baby.

“I’m sorry… I wanted to tell you, but I didn’t have the courage,” she said.

I asked whose child it was. Trân lowered her head and confessed—it was her ex-boyfriend’s. They had met again less than a month before our wedding. When he heard she was getting married, he begged for one last night together, full of regret and longing. She couldn’t control herself, and it happened.

During the hectic wedding preparations, she mistook early pregnancy symptoms for stress and exhaustion. Only when nausea worsened right before the wedding did she get checked—and discovered the pregnancy. But she didn’t dare tell me, nor did she dare call off the wedding. She simply went through with it, hoping things would somehow work out.

Listening to her confession, I felt like the biggest fool alive. I didn’t know whether to forgive or to leave her. It turned out I had been betrayed before our marriage had even begun.

Two months as a husband, yet never truly a husband. And if this child is born… do I have the heart to raise it as my own? Can I be selfless enough to love it like my flesh and blood?

What should I do?