Ch. Sorry Hayden, I’m Seven Months Pregnant with Another Man’s Baby 33 Sorry Hayden, I’m Seven Months Pregnant with Another Man’s Baby 33

Chapter 3 

Jenna sobbed on camera, tears streaming down her cheeks, saying she’d only tried to persuade me not to 

hurt Julian, and I’d assumed she was going to expose my affair, so I’d lashed out in revenge. 

Everyone demanded Julian hurry up and divorce “that slut.” 

But he put on a look of devotion. 

“No matter what Claire does in this life,” he said, “I can’t stop loving her.” 

Watching his hypocrisy, I couldn’t hold it in. 

I leaned over and vomited. 

Julian heard it from outside and rushed in. 

“What’s wrong?” 

I frowned, saw Jenna trailing behind him, and yanked my hand away. 

“Nothing,” I said. “I just find you disgusting. To protect your mistress, you’ll pay any price and smear your 

wife. Julian, your love is so noble.” 

His face drained white, his mouth opening like he was about to explain. 

Jenna dropped to her knees first, sobbing. 

“I’m sorry, Claire,” she cried. “It’s all my fault. Julian only made you the scapegoat because of me.” 

Julian’s expression softened instantly, and then he turned that accusing look on me. 

“I came to tell you this,” he said. “Those were Al-generated deepfakes. At the end of the day, she’s your sister. 

You taking the hit for her is what you should do.” 

“I’m helping her because I’m helping you hold on to that blood tie,” he went on, like it was reasonable. “Why do you have to keep going after her?” 

“And you’re a stay-at-home wife,” he added. “Your reputation doesn’t matter. People talking can’t change how 

I feel about you, and I know it’s fake, so that’s enough.” 

“But she’s different,” he said, gesturing toward Jenna. “She has no one. She makes her living off her online 

following and media gigs. If her image gets destroyed, she’s done.” 

Listening to him dress up cruelty as logic made my stomach churn. 

I’d become a stay-at-home wife because of him. 

He hadn’t just forced my company to fire me. He’d made sure every network and outlet in the industry knew 

that hiring me meant making an enemy of him. 

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I’d had doors slammed in my face over and over, and when I finally found a small private studio willing to 

take me on, he filed complaints until we were shut down. 

In the end, my press credentials and industry access were stripped away, and I was blacklisted as a pariah. 

I didn’t bother arguing with him. 

My postpartum doula had said I needed to stay calm and keep my mood light while I recovered, and in two 

more weeks I’d be free for good. 

Grandma Evelyn had promised she’d clear my name when the time came, so whatever they did to me now 

didn’t matter. 

I stared at him without expression, let out a long breath, and rolled over under the covers. 

“Do whatever you want,” I said. 

He looked like he expected me to leap up and hit Jenna like I used to, and he went rigid, planting himself in 

front of her. 

But when I stayed turned away, all the tension drained out of him. 

After a long moment, he asked in disbelief, “You… you’re not mad?” 

My voice stayed flat. 

“Aren’t you always saying you want me to get along with her?” 

He exhaled and actually smiled. 

“You finally learned your lesson,” he said. “I knew you weren’t that cold. I’ll make it up to you, I swear.” 

I didn’t answer. 

Even after they left, I never looked at him once. 

A long time later, I pressed my palm to my chest. 

So this was what letting go felt like. 

Over the next few days, maybe out of guilt, he started dropping by every other day. 

Even when he got nothing but doors slammed in his face and the cold shoulder, he didn’t get angry. He just 

kept painting me pictures of our “beautiful future.” 

When he finally brought up the lavish one-month baby welcome party, his voice turned careful. 

“Jenna will never be able to publicly claim her own child,” he said. “So before the baby’s old enough to understand, I want her to attend the party openly as his mother.” 

“It’ll at least fill that hole in her life,” he added. “What do you think?” 

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My hands kept moving with the knitting needles, and I didn’t even look up. 

“I already told you to do whatever you want,” I said. “This isn’t my child. None of it has anything to do with 

me.” 

He choked on his words, his eyes reddening with anger as he snatched the memorial items I’d bought for William’s death anniversary. 

“Why have you been like this for days?” he snapped. “Do you even know what it means if she shows up?” 

“It means you’re letting everyone treat her like Mrs. Prescott,” he said. “You never would’ve allowed that 

before.” 

I paused, bored, and flicked my eyes toward him. 

“Isn’t that what you want?” I asked. “Two months ago, when you were sleeping with her, didn’t you say it was 

a shame you’d never be able to give her a proper title?” 

He went statue-still, his face paper-white. 

I took the items back, calm enough that it was like nothing had happened. 

He started babbling in my ear about how he didn’t love her, how he’d been drugged, how he’d slept with her 

and felt responsible, every filthy excuse he could reach for. 

My silence beat every word back into his throat. 

Chapter 3