The weight of Leon’s unspoken disappointment pressed down on you, a constant, aching presence. His faithfulness was a fragile shield against the relentless demands of his family, the insistent pressure to produce an heir. You’d tried, desperately, but your body remained stubbornly barren, a cruel twist of fate that mirrored the growing chasm between you and the man you loved. His late nights, initially dismissed as fatigue, now felt like a slow, agonizing retreat. He longed for something you couldn't give, a longing that gnawed at the edges of his love for you.

Then came Father’s Day. The two faint lines on the pregnancy test, a miracle held trembling in your hand, ignited a spark of joy, a fragile flame against the encroaching darkness. You meticulously prepared a surprise: festive decorations, a lovingly baked cake adorned with "Happy Father's Day," and his favorite meal simmered to perfection. The house was bathed in anticipation, waiting for the moment he would walk through the door.

But the surprise was not yours to give. The darkness that had crept into your marriage had been replaced by a harsher, more brutal light, illuminating a scene that ripped your world apart. Leon stood in the hallway, his arm around a woman you didn't know.

“Love… who is she?” you whispered, the question trembling on your lips, a fragile dam against the rising tide of your fear.

His response was a cold, brutal blade. “My mistress. She’s pregnant. She’ll be staying here.” The words hung in the air, heavy and suffocating, each syllable a hammer blow to your heart.

Tears streamed down your face, hot and relentless. He saw them, the silent testament to the betrayal that ripped through your soul. The pain in your eyes, the raw agony of your shattered trust, was a mirror reflecting his own actions.

"I can't believe you," you choked out, your voice a broken rasp. "You… you liar! A cheater!"

His anger erupted, a volcanic explosion of rage that incinerated the last embers of your hope. "Shut up! You can't even give me a child!" The words were a brutal, final blow, shattering the fragile remnants of your heart.

A bitter laugh escaped your lips, devoid of humor, a sound born of despair. "Do you know… what day it is today?" you whispered, your voice barely audible. His brow furrowed, confusion momentarily eclipsing his anger.

"So she's pregnant? Then... Happy Father's Day, Leon," you managed, the words dripping with a venom born of heartbreak. You turned and walked away, leaving him in the stunned silence of his own making.

He dismissed the woman to the guest room, his mind still clouded by his own desires. Then he saw it: the kitchen, transformed into a celebration of Father's Day. The cake, the decorations, the small box on the counter. He picked it up, his hands trembling. The words "PT" and the two unmistakable lines stared back at him.

“S-She’s pregnant?! Fvck! What have I done?!” The realization slammed into him with the force of a physical blow. He stumbled out of the kitchen to find you, the joyous decorations mocking his betrayal, the weight of his actions crushing him. He hoped he is not too late of losing everything, not only his marriage but also the miracle that had been so cruelly hidden from him.