Knowing My Wife Was Pregnant With Another Man’s Child, I Couldn’t Speak a Word—Because I Held a Far More Terrifying Secret

My name is Hung, 35 years old. I have a gentle, beautiful wife named Ly. We’ve been married for nearly five years, but still have no children. Ly has cried countless times, thinking she might never become a mother. As for me… I would always hold her in my arms and comfort her: “It’s okay. As long as I have you, that’s enough.”

I’m not sure when it happened, but the two of us—once each other’s whole world—began to drift into long, painful silences.

Now my wife is five months pregnant. She glows with joy, her body fuller, her eyes filled with the soft light of an expectant mother. When she places her hands on her belly and gently calls the baby “Mommy’s little darling,” I stand quietly nearby, forcing a smile. But deep down, I feel like a complete fraud.

I know the child isn’t mine. But it’s not her fault.

Because behind it all lies a horrifying truth: I am the despicable man who caused this…

I remember that night vividly. It was a major company party. My boss—a powerful and ruthless man—saw Ly for the first time. He smiled, raised his glass, and said, “Your wife is truly beautiful.” I forced a smile, but deep inside, unease began to creep in.

After a few drinks, my boss pulled me aside.

“I want one night with her, Hung,” he said coldly. “If you play it smart, I’ll give you a promotion everyone’s been dying for.”

I froze. I didn’t nod. But I didn’t refuse either. I just stood there—silent—like a coward.

I poured Ly a drink, telling her it was to celebrate our wedding anniversary. She smiled, so happy, so trusting. Later, she got drunk, and I helped her to the hotel room the company had booked. I walked out… and left her alone with him.

That night, I didn’t sleep. I stood in a public restroom, staring into the mirror, unable to recognize the man looking back. A disgrace. A monster. The lowest of the low.

A month later, Ly came to me in tears: “Hung! I’m pregnant! I’m really pregnant!”

She cried. I cried too—but for an entirely different reason.

I knew the baby wasn’t mine. I was certain of it.

But I didn’t dare say a word. Not because I feared hurting her. But because I was the one who opened the gates of hell. I was the one who handed my wife to another man—for the sake of a promotion I hadn’t even enjoyed yet.

I see Ly every day—her hand on her belly, whispering to our child, her heart overflowing with joy. She’s living the dream of motherhood she’s longed for all these years. And I… I am slowly dying, tormented by a nightmare of my own making.

I’ve thought of writing a confession letter. I’ve thought of leaving.

But I always hesitate. I’m afraid of losing her. Afraid of losing the child I have no right to love.

I don’t know where this will end. But every night, I kneel beside her, place my hand on her belly, and whisper to the baby the one thing I’ve never had the courage to say to my wife:

“I’m sorry. Daddy’s sorry for not protecting your mother.”

When the Truth Has Nowhere Left to Hide

Seven months had passed.

Ly grew more and more radiant. She read books about prenatal care, bought clothes for the baby, and named our child “Hy,” meaning Hope.

As for me… I lived like a ghost in my own home. Every time Ly held her belly and smiled, my heart felt like it was being crushed. I still hadn’t found the courage to tell her the truth. I kept thinking I’d wait… wait until after the baby was born, then find the right moment.

But life didn’t give me the luxury to wait.

One fateful afternoon, Ly came to my office unexpectedly, bringing me a lunchbox. By pure coincidence, she overheard a conversation between two of my colleagues. They had no idea who she was.

“That baby’s the boss’s, right? Everyone in the company knows Hung traded his wife for a promotion that night.”

Ly dropped the lunchbox.

She ran out of the office, her face pale as a sheet.

That evening, I came home to find her sitting motionless in the dark. No tears. No rage. Just an empty stillness that shattered my soul.

“Is it true?” she asked, her voice as soft as a whisper—yet every word pierced like a blade.

I collapsed to my knees. I didn’t deny it. I had nothing left to deny.

I knelt at her feet and broke down in tears:

“I’m sorry… I was wrong. I was a coward. I thought if I stayed silent, I could keep you… but I was wrong. You can hate me, curse me, hit me… Just please, don’t blame yourself. You didn’t know. You did nothing wrong.”

For the first time in months, Ly cried. She wept until her body gave out. Not because of what had happened, but because what she had believed in so completely—my love—had been trampled by none other than me.

I didn’t sleep that night. I sat in silence, watching the woman I loved drown in pain. And I realized, it’s not the truth that destroys people…

It’s the betrayal of their trust.

One Week Later

I left the house. I took nothing with me, except a letter.

“Ly,
I don’t dare ask for your forgiveness.
But I ask you to let me continue loving our child.
Though not of my blood, the love is real.
Every beat of my heart from now on… is for that child.
Please live in peace.
If, one day, you find it in your heart to forgive me—
I’ll be waiting,
The way a sinner should wait.”

– Hung.

One Year Later

I don’t know if she ever read the letter.
I don’t know if she’s forgiven me.
But every month, I send child support—
Along with a handwritten card that says:

“Daddy loves you.”

Maybe I don’t deserve to be a husband.
But if fate gives me one chance to be a father…

I’ll give up everything—just to hear two words:

“Daddy.”

A Fateful Reunion Between Hùng, Ly, and the Child

It was a late afternoon in autumn. The wind carried a quiet chill, and the sky was dyed a soft shade of gold. Hùng sat alone at a small coffee shop near the park, where fallen leaves danced with every breeze. He had become thinner, quieter, with eyes that always seemed to be searching for something.

Years had passed since he left. He never contacted Ly again, nor tried to explain. He had chosen to disappear, bearing all the pain and remorse in silence. In his heart, he always carried an image of the child he had never met.

And then fate stepped in.

A burst of laughter rang out from the park. Hùng’s eyes instinctively turned toward it—and his breath caught. A little boy, around four years old, was running with a woman not far behind. She was gently calling out, “Be careful, don’t run too fast!”

It was Ly.

Time had changed her. She was more mature, radiant in a quiet, peaceful way. But Hùng would never forget that voice, that face. His hands trembled as he stood up. The boy suddenly tripped and fell right near Hùng’s table. He rushed forward, instinctively catching the child before he hit the ground.

“Are you okay?” Hùng asked, his voice shaking.

The child looked up at him—eyes round, bright, and innocent. But there was something in those eyes. A familiar shape. A haunting resemblance.

“Thank you,” Ly said, rushing over. Her voice froze when she saw him. “Hùng…?”

They stared at each other in stunned silence.

The boy clutched Hùng’s shirt, smiling brightly. “Uncle, you look like me!” he giggled.

Ly knelt down, her face pale. “This is… my son. His name is An.”

Hùng couldn’t hold back the tears. He gently placed a hand on the boy’s head and whispered, “You have your mother’s eyes… and my nose.”

Ly looked at him, eyes filling with tears. “You knew, didn’t you? You always knew…”

Hùng nodded slowly. “I made a mistake I can never undo. But I loved both of you more than anything. That’s why I left—so you could be free.”

A long silence settled between them, filled only with the rustle of leaves and the giggles of little An, oblivious to the heavy emotions surrounding him.

“I don’t hate you,” Ly finally said. “I just always wondered why you disappeared.”

“I couldn’t forgive myself,” Hùng replied. “I thought you deserved better.”

“But I deserved the truth,” she said gently.

They stood there for a long time. Three lives once broken—now quietly stitched together by the invisible hand of fate. Ly didn’t ask him to stay. Hùng didn’t ask for a second chance. But as the sun dipped below the trees, the child held both their hands and smiled.

And for the first time in years, Hùng smiled back—tears in his eyes, but peace in his heart.