He told me I was insecure for not wanting him in the delivery room with another woman. It turns out, he wasn’t just offering emotional support—he was protecting his investment.
My husband, Mark, and his best friend, Chloe, always had a friendship that made people raise eyebrows. They were “just friends,” he insisted. Sisters and brothers, practically. So when Chloe announced she was becoming a “Single Mom by Choice” via IVF, Mark was over the moon.
I was happy for her, too. Until the boundaries started to dissolve.
“Chloe asked me to be her birth partner,” Mark announced one night over dinner. “She doesn’t have family nearby, and she needs a man in the room to advocate for her.”
I put my fork down. “Mark, that’s an incredibly intimate moment. You’re a married man. I’m not comfortable with you being the one holding her leg while she pushes a baby out.”
He rolled his eyes. “God, you’re so jealous. It’s a medical procedure, not a date. She’s terrified. I’m just going to be there as a friend.”
The “Preparation”
He ignored my feelings. For the next four months, our lives revolved around Chloe’s uterus. Mark went to every ultrasound. I would come home from work to find them in my living room, sitting on the floor on yoga mats, practicing Lamaze breathing techniques.
“Breathe, Chloe, breathe!” he’d soothe her, rubbing her back.
I felt like an intruder in my own home. When I complained, Mark called me heartless. “She’s doing this alone,” he’d guilt-trip me. “Why can’t you be supportive? It takes a village.”
The Missed Anniversary
The breaking point came on our 5th wedding anniversary. We were at a nice steakhouse, finally having a night about us. His phone buzzed. Chloe. “She’s having contractions,” he said, standing up immediately.
“Mark, she’s 34 weeks. It’s probably Braxton Hicks. Sit down.” “I can’t risk it,” he said, throwing cash on the table. “I have to go.”
He left me there with two steaks and a bottle of wine. I took an Uber home, seething.
The Gym Bag
Mark didn’t come home that night. He stayed at Chloe’s “just in case.” When he finally walked in the next morning, he went straight to the shower. He left his gym bag on the bed.
I wanted to see if he had brought her a gift. I opened the bag. Underneath his sweaty clothes was a crumpled envelope from the Fertility Institute. It wasn’t a bill. It was a copy of a “Donor Release Form” dated nine months ago.
I pulled it out. Donor Name: Mark A. Recipient Name: Chloe S. Status: Successful Transfer.
The Confrontation
I was holding the paper when he walked out of the bathroom, towel around his waist. He saw the document. He didn’t panic. He just stopped.
“You’re the father,” I said. It wasn’t a question.
“Technically, yes,” he said, as calmly as if we were discussing the weather. “But it was clinical. We didn’t sleep together. She wanted a baby, and she wanted a donor she knew and trusted. She didn’t want a stranger’s DNA. I just helped a friend out.”
“You have a child with another woman!” I screamed. “And you didn’t tell your wife?”
“Because I knew you’d react like this!” he shouted back. “It’s not our baby. It’s hers. I’m just the donor. But obviously, I care about the kid. That’s why I need to be at the birth. It’s my flesh and blood too.”
The Reality Check
“So let me get this straight,” I said, shaking. “You donated your sperm, you went to every appointment, you’re coaching the birth, and you prioritize her over our marriage. Mark, that’s not a donation. That’s parenting.”
He tried to argue that it wasn’t cheating because there was no sex. He tried to say I was being “biological essentialist.”
I didn’t listen. I packed a bag.
The End
I served him divorce papers three days later. He was shocked. He actually thought I would get over it. “You’re throwing away our marriage over a favor I did for a friend?” he asked.
“No,” I told him. “I’m throwing away a marriage to a man who started a second family behind my back.”
He ended up being in the delivery room for the birth. It was fitting, honestly. He can be the father he so desperately wanted to be. But he doesn’t get to come home to me afterward.
Chloe got her baby. Mark got his “biological legacy.” And I got my freedom from two people who deserve each other.
