It was just another regular workday until the delivery guy, Nico, walked into my office, holding a bright pink bakery box with a grin on his face. “This is for you, Emma!” he said, handing me the box. Surprised, I thanked him, wondering who had sent it. There were no special occasions or birthdays, so it had to be from Jake, my husband, who worked at a bakery. Excited, I thought it was a sweet gesture from him.
As I opened the box, the office buzz faded into the background. My fingers slowly untied the ribbon, and I lifted the lid. My heart sank as I read the message on the cake: “I AM DIVORCING YOU.” And next to the words was something even worse—a positive pregnancy test.
I froze, my mind racing. Jake had found the pregnancy test I had thrown away that morning. I had meant to hide it, but in the rush, I forgot. Now, this? A cake announcing our divorce alongside a pregnancy test? He thought I’d cheated on him.
Jake and I had struggled for years to have a baby. Doctors had told him he was infertile, so this pregnancy must have seemed like a betrayal. He assumed the worst without asking me, and now, here I was, holding this cruel message in front of my colleagues, mortified.
Grabbing the cake box, I packed up my things and rushed out of the office. I needed to explain everything to Jake, to tell him the truth. I hadn’t cheated; the baby was his, but he needed to hear the whole story.
When I arrived home, Jake was pacing the living room, his face red with anger. The moment he saw me, he erupted, “Tell me the test wasn’t yours!”
I stood still, placing the box on the counter. “It is mine,” I said softly. His expression darkened, fists clenched at his sides.
“If you want a divorce, I won’t stop you,” I continued, my voice steady. “But before you leave, you need to know the truth.”
Jake’s voice cracked with disbelief. “How could you do this, Emma? This baby isn’t mine.”
“Jake, listen to me,” I interrupted, stepping closer. “This baby is yours. You’re going to be a father.”
For a moment, he just stared at me, unable to process what I was saying. “No… I can’t have kids. The doctors told us that years ago.”
“The doctors were wrong,” I said gently. “You were diagnosed with oligospermia, which means a low sperm count, not infertility. I confirmed everything with Dr. Harper today. This pregnancy is real, and it’s yours.”
Jake’s anger melted into disbelief as the realization hit him. He sank into a chair, his head in his hands. “I thought you had someone else. I thought I couldn’t give you what you wanted,” he whispered, his voice thick with emotion.
Tears filled my eyes as I watched him break down. “You’ve always been enough,” I said softly, wrapping my arms around him. “We’re having a baby, Jake. We’re going to figure this out.”
We stood there, holding each other, as hope slowly replaced years of heartache.