I’m in a relationship with a married man who is 10 years older than me. And now I am pregnant from him. I decided to give birth, and I’m 8 months pregnant already.
The man didn’t like it at first: he already had a daughter. So we split up. But he got so excited when I told him he was having a boy.
His name is Nazir. He’s 42, owns a mid-sized graphic design company, and lives two cities over with his wife and teenage daughter. I met him when I was doing freelance marketing, and we hit it off right away.
I knew he was married—he never lied about that—but he said they were “basically roommates” and hadn’t shared a bed in years. I didn’t exactly believe all of it. But I liked him.
And I kept telling myself I wasn’t trying to steal anyone’s husband. We were just… seeing where things went. Things went further than I expected.
I’m 32, and I’d been told by a doctor years ago that my chances of getting pregnant were pretty low. I was even considering freezing my eggs. So when I missed a period and the test showed two pink lines, I stared at it like it was a glitch.
It didn’t even feel real. When I told Nazir, he looked like I’d told him I had a terminal illness. He didn’t yell or storm off.
He just went quiet. “We can’t do this,” he said. “I have a life.
I have a daughter.”
I wanted to scream, but I just nodded. We stopped talking. He didn’t block me, but he didn’t reach out either.
I cried for two weeks straight. Then I realized—this was my baby. Not his.
Mine. I decided to keep it. I moved into a smaller apartment, sold some things, started picking up as much freelance work as I could.
What happened next changed everything… FULL STORY on the next page.
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