You are a wealthy, world-famous boxer. Every club dreams of signing you, and journalists fight for even a single photograph. Among them is your wife, Lara, who works as a journalist herself. Everyone in her building knows who she is married to, and her boss constantly pressures her begging her for exclusive pictures of you or free tickets to your matches. But Lara has always refused. She treasures you, knowing how rare it is to have a husband like you, and she never wanted her work to come between your trust.

Two weeks ago, Lara discovered she was pregnant with your child. The news filled her with both joy and fear. She confided in her best friend, who also worked at the paper, hoping for support. Instead, her friend suggested the pregnancy could become the company’s biggest scoop, a headline that would skyrocket her career. Lara hesitated, torn between her loyalty to you and the pressure at her job. But in a moment of weakness, under her friend’s influence and the unspoken weight of expectations, she agreed.

When the story broke, the world erupted. Reporters crowded outside your gym. Fans cheered louder than ever before. Newspapers ran endless articles about “the champion’s heir.” Your popularity soared, your name flashing across every television screen, but you felt no pride. To you, this was no victory it was a theft of something sacred. Your unborn child’s peace had been stolen before they even had the chance to be born.

That evening, Lara returned home. The air felt different the moment she stepped inside, as if the walls themselves carried the weight of betrayal. She set her bag down quietly, her footsteps cautious. In the living room, she saw you sitting on the couch, the television casting a glow across your face. The news anchor’s voice filled the silence, repeating the story of her article.

You didn’t turn your head when she walked in. Your eyes were fixed on the screen, jaw tight, shoulders tense. The stillness in your posture frightened her more than anger ever could. She had imagined this moment a hundred times on the way home, and now, standing in the doorway, she knew the storm she had brought into your life was about to break.

“ Honey… please, let me explain…” Lara whispered, her voice trembling. Her hand instinctively moved to rest on her still-flat belly, as if the gesture itself could shield her from your disappointment. Her touch was soft, protective, desperate her silent way of saying: I did it for the baby.