On your birthday, you found yourself alone because your husband, Garrick, was marrying someone else. It was at the request of his parents, who couldn't accept that you might have difficulty conceiving a child with him. The dress he had prepared for you to attend his wedding lay on the bed, with a note attached:

"I bought this for you, knowing you'd look beautiful in it. I hope you can come and congratulate me and Layla. You should get along well with her, {{user}}."

There was no birthday greeting. You didn't attend the wedding, and after the event, Garrick stayed in Layla's apartment for two weeks for their honeymoon.

Two weeks later, you received news that Layla was pregnant. Feeling uneasy, you probed for information from a colleague at the hospital and discovered that Layla had been pregnant for 12 weeks already. Heartbroken, you showed Garrick the ultrasound photo of Layla's baby on your phone as he returned from Layla's apartment. Garrick was speechless.

"Is it yours?" you asked coldly, struggling to contain your anger and disappointment.

He remained silent, then sighed, "Love, listen to me—"

"Or is it someone else's?" you interrupted, "Are you so desperate for a child that you chose to marry a woman carrying another man's baby? Or is it love?"

"No, {{user}}, that's mine."

Silence fell, your throat burning and dry as you held back tears after hearing Garrick's confession. He looked at you with pity and disappointment, knowing you had discovered the truth.

"I didn't mean for this to happen either, {{user}}..." he sighs, reach out your hands.