He Married Her for a Baby and Lost Me Forever

We're at game night. Someone suggests two truths and a lie. Sabrina Quinn — Weston's ride-or-die since kindergarten — grabs her wine glass and stands up. "I've slept in Weston's bed." "I've worn Weston's boxers." "I'm pregnant with Weston's baby." Every single person at the table points at the third one. So do I. I mean, come on. Weston and I have been together seven years. He's been dead-set child-free the whole time. I gave up wanting kids for him. Then Weston opens his mouth. “Number two. That one’s the lie.” The whole room goes dead quiet. --- Sabrina glances at me and waves her hands fast. "Hon, don't get the wrong idea. It was IVF. We didn't do anything, I swear." Weston picks it right up, cool as ice. "She doesn't want to get married. She just wants a baby of her own." Sabrina giggles. "Family helps family. He just donated some sperm." I stare at Weston. Seven years of "no kids ever." Turns out the "no kids" rule only applied to me. The room stays dead silent for a good five seconds. Sabrina, meanwhile, sips her wine like nothing happened. "Why the faces? We didn't sleep together." Somebody finally snaps out of it. "Wait — you're seriously pregnant with Weston's kid?" "Yep." Sabrina pats her still-flat stomach. "Two lines on the test yesterday." She says it like she just won the lottery. Weston doesn't explain. Just leans back on the couch. Zero guilt. Someone else finally works up the nerve to ask. "So… what's the kid's last name gonna be? Hale or Quinn?" "Quinn, obviously." Sabrina doesn't even blink. "I'm carrying it, I'm raising it. Weston's got nothing to do with it." Somebody laughs. "The kid is literally his and he's got nothing to do with it?" Sabrina rolls her eyes so hard. "He donated some DNA. I'm not asking him to be my husband." She reaches for her wine again. Weston’s hand moves faster. He slides the glass away. "No booze. You're pregnant." "One sip." "No." He pushes a club soda toward her. "Did you take your prenatal today?" "Yes, yes, God, you're worse than my mother." I sit next to him. I don't say a word. Seven years. The one sentence Weston said most about kids? "I don't like children." I actually believed him. But he remembers pregnant women can't drink. He remembers prenatal vitamins. He cares more than Sabrina does. Someone's still catching up. "Okay but — the OB appointments, insurance, all that. You're doing it alone?" Sabrina just laughs. She sets down her glass, digs in her purse, and slaps two documents on the table. "That's why we got the marriage license and made it official today." My mind goes completely blank. MARRIAGE LICENSE. Right there in black and white. Sabrina flips one open. Their names are printed there in black and white, right next to each other. The room explodes. "HOLY SHIT you two actually got MARRIED?" "That's insane!" Sabrina waves them off. "Relax. Just makes the paperwork easier for the baby. We're divorcing the second I pop." Then she lifts her chin at me. "Don't take it personal, hon. Just borrowing him for a few months. Kid comes out, you get him right back." I don't say anything. Weston finally turns to look at me. ---

"That's just how her mouth is. Don't take her seriously." I ask him: "You got married?" "Yeah." "When did you decide?" "A few days ago." He says it like it's nothing. Like it wasn't worth mentioning. Someone finally remembers I exist and looks over. "So what about your wedding next month?" Weston doesn't even pause. "Same as planned." "Wedding first. We'll do the license later." I look up. Weston keeps going. "Once Sabrina delivers, we'll file for divorce. Then you and I go get our license." Sabrina giggles beside him. "Just a couple months late. You two dated seven years, what's a few more?" Someone at the table laughs it off. Says sure, that could work. I feel like I’m losing my mind. Seven years I waited for that license. Sabrina wanted a baby and got one today. After dinner, Weston drives me home. He doesn't bring it up once on the ride. At my door, he pulls a folder from the car. "Perfect timing. Lawyer finished the prenup." He flips to the signature page. "Take a look. Sign it if everything looks good." I scan down. One line jumps out. "Both parties agree to remain child-free. No biological children. No adoption." I look at the pen. I don't take it. He's already got a kid. But I still have to be child-free for life. ---

Weston pushes the folder into my arms. "Take it home. Look it over. Sign it tomorrow." Then he glances at his phone. Text from Sabrina. "My stomach hurts." He yanks the car door open. "I'm gonna go check on her." I don't move. He sees my face and frowns. "She just got pregnant. It's not stable. Don't throw a tantrum right now." Door slams. He's gone. Just like that. The next day at noon, I go to the hotel to taste the wedding menu. I push open the private room door. Sabrina's already sitting next to Diane, Weston's mom. "Diane, I really can't eat anymore." I stop dead. Diane sees me and something twitches on her face. "Oh. You're here. Sit." Sabrina catches up and laughs. "Don’t take it the wrong way, hon. Diane insisted — since the license is done, I have to call her Mom now. It’s tradition." Diane pulls a fat red envelope out of her bag. "Here. Ten grand and one — ten thousand and one dollars. For luck." At our engagement, Diane held my hand and said: "When you and Weston get your license, honey, I'm giving you eight thousand, eight hundred and eighty-eight. For prosperity." I smiled and said okay. Now Sabrina gets ten grand and change. Diane sees me staring at the envelope. Her voice cools off. "Sabrina is legally Weston's wife right now. Manners matter." "You haven't gotten your license yet. Just call me Diane for now. Rules are rules." Sabrina snorts. "Hon, don't tell me you're fighting me over a welcome check too." "You want it? I'll give it to you." Weston walks in right then. Diane fills him in. He just pulls out a chair and sits down. "It's ten grand. Don't make this awkward." Right. Because the only person who ever ends up awkward is me. The waiter starts bringing food out. Drunken lobster hits the table. Weston speaks up immediately. "Take this off. And take it off the wedding menu too." The manager blinks. "Mr. Hale, this was one of the main courses you booked." "She's pregnant. She can't eat it." Weston grabs the menu and crosses it out himself. I finally speak. "That dish is the one my dad specifically picked." Last month at the tasting, my dad — who never says he likes anything — actually said he liked it. Weston said he'd make sure Dad got an extra plate on the wedding day. Now he doesn't even look up. "When did your dad ever have to eat it?" "Sabrina's pregnant. If something goes wrong, who's responsible?" Diane frowns at me too. "It's one dish. Your father can't survive without it?" Sabrina chews her chopsticks and grins at me. "Hon, if he's really craving it, I'll treat him to a whole spread after I deliver." Everyone laughs. I stop talking. Halfway through the tasting, Diane brings up the wedding again. "Wedding goes on as planned." "When relatives ask about the license, just say it's done. Don't run your mouth. Don't make us look ridiculous." I look at Weston. "You want me to tell people we're already married?" He grunts. "Mm." "It's just a few months late. What's the difference?" Sabrina jumps in. "Exactly! I'm just holding the spot. Baby comes out, I hand it right back to you." Diane clicks her tongue at Sabrina's phrasing. "Nobody's holding anything. We're all family." Then she suddenly remembers something. "Sabrina, you should move into the new house for the next few months." I look up. Diane, matter-of-fact: "It's closer to the hospital. Easier for Weston to look after her." "Your wedding hasn't even happened yet. The house is just sitting empty." I look at Weston. He looks straight at Sabrina. "First trimester's risky. If I stay there too, I can help if anything happens." I grip my glass hard. That house. Half a year I spent picking every piece of furniture, every paint color. I haven't spent a single night in it. They've already moved another woman in. Diane sees my face and her voice drops. "She's carrying Weston's baby. You're going to be Weston's wife. You can't even show that much grace?" ---

The lock notification sits on my screen for a few seconds before it fades. I stare at "Sabrina Quinn" — and drive straight to the new house. Door opens. Four or five suitcases stacked in my living room. Sabrina walks out of the master bedroom, barefoot. "Oh hey, hon." She points at the boxes. "Give me a hand? I can't lift anything heavy right now." I don't move. Somebody's still going in and out of the master bedroom. The cleaning lady comes out carrying a box, sees me, freezes for a second, then turns to Sabrina. "Mrs. Hale, all the pregnancy stuff goes in the master bathroom, right?" "Yeah." I look at Weston. He's adjusting the AC in her bedroom. He doesn't correct the "Mrs. Hale." Not once. I walk into the master. The huge engagement photo Weston and I picked out last month — gone. Two nail holes on the wall. That's it. "Where's the photo?" Sabrina pops her head in. "I had someone take it down." "Waking up to your giant faces every morning? Nope. Too creepy." She laughs at her own joke. Weston just glances at her. "Behave." I open the closet. My nightgowns and the outfits I bought for after the wedding — all shoved to the back corner. The other half is already stuffed with Sabrina's stuff. Even my shampoo and lotion are in a cardboard box by the door. Sabrina points. "Your perfume and body wash — too strong. I gag from anything scented now." "You haven't moved in yet anyway. I packed it up for you." Weston, even smoother: "We'll put it all back after she delivers." I look at him. "Why does she get the master?" "The guest room doesn't have its own bathroom." He frowns like I asked something stupid. "She's pregnant. She shouldn't be running back and forth." I look at Sabrina's flat stomach. "And after the wedding?" "Where do I sleep?" Sabrina's unwrapping her pillow. Doesn't even look up. "Guest room, obviously." She laughs. "Hon, don't tell me you're gonna fight a pregnant woman for the master." Weston doesn't laugh. But what he says hits harder. "It's just a few months." "You're healthy. You can sleep anywhere." I stand next to the bed we picked out together. Watch my things get carried out one by one. Next month, I'll wear a wedding dress and marry Weston. Reception on. Guests invited. Everyone will call me the bride. But the marriage license has Sabrina's name. The master bedroom has Sabrina in it. Even on my wedding night, I'll be sleeping in the guest room. Sabrina suddenly remembers something. Digs a red jewelry box out of her suitcase. "Oh — right." She flips it open. Two diamond bracelets. Hale family heirlooms. I know them. At our engagement, Diane slid them onto my wrist for a photo. She said: "These belonged to Weston’s grandma. When you officially join the family, they’ll be yours." Sabrina snaps them onto her own wrist. "Diane said since I'm carrying, they'll bring good luck to the baby." She shakes her wrist. "Heavier than they look." I look at Weston. He just says: "She's only wearing them a few months." "They're still yours after." Right there, I don't even want to fight anymore. The marriage license — borrowed. The house — borrowed. The heirloom bracelets — borrowed. Even my fiancé — borrowed for a few months. Every ounce of "we can't let Sabrina feel bad" gets dumped straight on me. I drive home. Text Marcus, the VP. "That London project we talked about — did you assign a lead yet?" He replies fast. "Not yet. Why the sudden interest?" I type back. "I want it." Few seconds pass. "Isn't your wedding next month?" I stare at the screen. Delete the explanation I already typed. "Won't affect the project." Ping. "Done. Wrap up your stuff, then fly out." ---