Doomed to Perfect Your Love Story

My wife, Celina Buckley, is a violinist. I've wooed her for five years before she finally agrees to date me.

After our marriage, Celina insists on staying child-free for the sake of her career. Left without a choice, I can only poke a few holes in the condoms.

Finally, Celina gets pregnant, and with twins, too!

Delighted, I make all preparations to welcome the new members of my family into my life. But I accidentally stumble across a photo of a pregnancy report posted on the social media feed belonging to Leo Kolcheck, Celina's senior at work.

"Thank you for fulfilling my wish to become a father, Celina. I can't wait to meet my twins!"

I feel as though I got struck by lightning. At that moment, I feel like a complete joke.

While Celina is at Leo's birthday party, I begin packing up. I make sure that I've taken all of my belongings with me. All that's left is the divorce agreement on the table.

I was sitting on the couch when my wife, Celina Buckley, came home. My phone screen displayed the pregnancy test result I had screenshotted from the social media page of Leo Kolcheck, her fellow music student.

With her six-month belly leading the way, Celina's footsteps were a little slow and heavy, but a pleased smile curved her lips.

Out of habit, she glanced toward the shoe cabinet, clearly expecting me to take out her house slippers for her and hand her a glass of warm water.

But this time, I didn't move.

She froze for a second, then bent down to change her shoes herself. But her swollen belly made her movements clumsy.

Her fingers barely managed to reach the laces, and no matter how hard she tried, she couldn't untie them.

Watching her struggle, I felt an ache in my chest.

In the past, I would have crouched down without hesitation, helped her out of her shoes, run warm water so she could soak her feet, and even massaged her swollen ankles.

But today, my hands and feet felt shackled, like invisible chains were holding me in place.

She looked at me, a trace of confusion and hurt in her gaze. "Randall Cahill, what's wrong with you today?"

Previously, whenever she looked at me like that, I would always indulge her and handle everything for her.

After hesitating for a few seconds, I finally walked over, crouched down, and helped her into her slippers.

Maybe it was out of habit. Or maybe it was because the love was still there.

My silence finally made her sense that something was wrong.

"Babe, what's wrong?" she asked again. "You seem unhappy."

I didn't answer. I simply handed her my phone. On the screen was the pregnancy report and Leo's caption beneath it.

Her eyes fell on the display, and the smile on her face froze instantly, replaced by stunned silence and unease. Then, as if she'd quickly pieced together an excuse, she spoke carefully.

"Leo