The Donor Was My Husband

After five years of failed IVF and a husband who claimed he was "sterile," Harper finally conceived using an anonymous sperm donor. The happiest moment of her life—until the clinic's database was hacked and donor identities leaked. Donor #3847 was her husband, Ethan. The same Ethan who had cried with her through every failed pregnancy test. The same Ethan who had convinced her that biological children were "impossible" for them. The same Ethan who had been secretly fathering children with her best friend Megan for three years—two kids who called him "Uncle Ethan" at every family barbecue. He didn't just cheat. He stole her chance at motherhood while building a secret family with someone else. Now Harper has the ultimate leverage: she's carrying his child—the one he never meant for her to have. And she's about to make him pay for every lie, every tear, and every stolen year.

Chapters

Chapter 2

I stumbled out of the conference room on unsteady legs, my vision tunneling as colleagues' voices faded into meaningless noise. The hallway stretched endlessly before me, fluorescent lights buzzing overhead like angry wasps.

The bathroom door felt impossibly heavy. I shoved it open and barely made it to the nearest stall before my knees buckled. The cold tile bit through my skirt as I collapsed, my phone still clutched in my trembling hands.

The screen glowed accusingly. Donor #3847. Ethan Mitchell. My husband's face staring back at me from a fertility clinic database.

I pressed my back against the stall door, gulping air that tasted metallic. My mind raced, fragments of memory colliding like broken glass.

Five years ago. "Let's start trying," I'd whispered into Ethan's neck after dinner, wine making me bold. His smile had been so bright, so genuine. "I can't wait to see you as a mom, Harper."

Four years ago. The devastating appointment with Dr. Reeves. Ethan's hand crushing mine as she delivered the news: "I'm sorry, Mr. Mitchell. The test results show complete infertility. Natural conception isn't possible."

I remembered his tears. The way his shoulders shook as he apologized, as if his body's betrayal was somehow his fault. "We'll figure this out," I'd promised, stroking his hair. "There are options."

Donor conception. The hardest decision of our lives, made together in that sterile office.

Except it had all been a lie.

My fingers flew across the phone screen, scrolling through donation records with manic precision. March 15th, three years ago. The first entry. One week after Ethan's "devastating" follow-up appointment.

Three years ago. Megan's surprise announcement at our monthly book club meeting. "I'm pregnant!" she'd laughed, her hand pressed to her still-flat stomach. "Can you believe it? After all these years of being single, I finally meet someone and boom—instant family."

I'd hugged her so tight, genuinely happy despite my own struggles. "Who's the father?"

"Just some guy from a dating app. We broke up already—he wasn't ready for this kind of commitment." Her smile had been radiant. "But I am. I'm going to be a single mom, and I can't wait."

Two years ago. Lucas's birth. Seven pounds, three ounces of perfect baby boy. I'd held him in the hospital, tears streaming down my face as Megan beamed from the bed.

"Look at those eyes," I'd whispered. Green eyes that seemed familiar somehow. "He's going to be a heartbreaker."

"Harper, would you be his godmother? I can't think of anyone I'd trust more."

Godmother. To my husband's son.

One year ago. Megan's second pregnancy announcement. "The same guy?" I'd asked, surprised.

"We tried to make it work," she'd shrugged. "But some men just aren't built for family life. At least Lucas will have a sibling."

Six months ago. Lily's birth. Another perfect baby with Ethan's distinctive eye color. I'd thrown Megan a baby shower, bought tiny clothes, assembled a crib.

Three months ago. My own positive pregnancy test after years of failure. Ethan's joy had seemed so genuine, his tears of happiness so real.

"Finally," he'd whispered, pulling me close. "Our miracle baby."

Our miracle baby. Conceived through anonymous donor conception that had somehow, impossibly, matched me with my own husband.

I lurched forward, dry heaving into the toilet. The irony was suffocating. Five years of trying. Dozens of negative tests. Hormone injections that made me crazy. Invasive procedures that left me raw and empty.

And the first time I'd gotten pregnant was when I'd used Ethan's sperm without knowing it.

My hands shook as I opened Instagram, searching for Megan's profile. Her feed was a shrine to single motherhood—artfully posed photos of her with Lucas and Lily, captions about the strength of women raising children alone.

But now I saw what I'd missed before. The background details. The helpful friend who appeared in so many shots, just out of focus. The man pushing Lucas on swings, teaching him to ride a bike, reading bedtime stories.

Ethan. Always Ethan.

"Uncle Ethan's here!" Lucas would shriek whenever we visited. The boy would launch himself into my husband's arms like they shared some secret connection.

Because they did. Blood connection. Father and son.

I scrolled frantically through photos, my vision blurring. There—Lucas's third birthday party last month. The camera had caught Ethan lifting the boy high in the air, both of them laughing. The resemblance was unmistakable now that I knew to look for it. The same nose, the same stubborn cowlick, the same way they both scrunched their eyes when they smiled.

How had I missed it? How had I been so blind?

Another photo. Lily's christening two months ago. Megan in white, holding her daughter. And there in the background, Ethan's profile as he watched them with an expression I'd never seen before. Tender. Possessive. Proud.

The look of a father watching his child.

My phone buzzed. A text from Ethan: "Left work early. Stopped at the baby store—couldn't resist looking at cribs! See you soon, mama. ❤️"

Mama. The word that had filled me with such joy this morning now felt like mockery.

I pressed my palm against my still-flat stomach. Twelve weeks along. The first successful pregnancy in five years of trying. The miracle we'd prayed for.

But it wasn't a miracle. It was just genetics. The same genetics that had given Megan two healthy children while I'd believed myself cursed with infertility.

The bathroom door creaked open. Footsteps echoed against tile.

"Harper? Honey, are you in here?" Jennifer's concerned voice drifted over the stall doors.

I couldn't answer. Couldn't move. My entire world had shifted on its axis in the span of thirty minutes.

Five years of lies. Five years of watching my best friend raise my husband's children while I mourned my empty womb. Five years of believing I was broken while Ethan played the devoted, supportive husband.

The supporting husband who'd been sabotaging our attempts to conceive while secretly fathering children with my best friend.

My hand tightened protectively over my abdomen. This baby—our baby, his baby—was the only truth I had left.

And somehow, that made everything infinitely worse.

Continue to next part

In my past life, the Cerberus strain leaked, turning the world into a blood-soaked hell of rotting flesh and mutated monsters. I thought my boyfriend Declan and my best friend Hailee would have my back as we fled the quarantine zone. Instead, when the surging crowd of the infected cornered us, they didn't hesitate. They shoved me backward into the horde just to buy themselves three seconds to run. As I fell into the mud, I saw them fleeing without a single backward glance. "She's dead weight anyway!" Hailee screamed. "Just keep running, she'll distract them!" Declan yelled back. I was torn apart, feeling the agonizing tear of rotting teeth sinking into my neck and the hot spray of my own blood. Before the apocalypse, my greedy uncle had locked away my ten-million-dollar trust fund, leaving me with nothing but a fake boyfriend who only wanted me for my money. Until my last breath, I couldn't understand how the people I loved most could trade my life for a head start. Why did I blindly trust them? Why didn't I see through their perfectly choreographed lies? Opening my eyes again, the stench of decaying flesh vanished, replaced by the sterile smell of my college dorm room. Hailee and Declan were standing over my bed, faking tears of concern over my meningitis fever. I was back exactly seven days before the world ended, and my spatial vault ability had come back with me. This time, I'm extorting my uncle for every cent, hoarding the city's supplies, and leaving them all to rot.

Action Horror Modern Sci-Fi

8.0

Betrayal in Anniversary

8.0

Our sixth anniversary was supposed to be special, but everything changed with just one call from his neighbor, Haley. My boyfriend invited her to join us because she wasn't feeling well. When I refused to go into the escape room with them, he lost his patience. "Why are you being so difficult? Even Haley, with everything she's dealing with, can play. Why can't you?" He seemed to have forgotten my severe claustrophobia. Before I fainted from fear, I saw my boyfriend, Imran, hold Haley close, gently covering her ears. "Don't worry, I'm here with you." It was then I realized the person he wanted to protect was no longer me. When I came around, I found myself lying in the first aid room of the escape room. The sudden appearance of ghostly figures had frightened me into unconsciousness for quite some time.

Modern Mystery Romance

7.7

Claimed By The Coldhearted Sterling Heir

7.7

I was kneeling on the warped linoleum of my trailer, packing my life into a trash bag, when the predatory purr of a luxury SUV echoed through the thin walls. I thought it was a raid, but it was something much worse. Julian Sterling, a federal prosecutor in a charcoal suit, stepped into the mud and bought me from my alcoholic stepfather. He didn't use cash; he used a list of felonies and a legal settlement to trade my freedom for my stepfather's silence. "Throw it away," Julian ordered, pointing at the bag containing everything I owned. I watched my sister's stuffed bear fall into an oil puddle as he forced me into a world of cold leather and silence. By the time we reached Boston, Faith Vance was dead. He forced me to sign papers changing my name to Elara, erasing my past to fit a narrative of Swiss boarding schools and high-society breeding. The horror didn't stop there. The family patriarch, Arthur Sterling, looked at us with hawk-like eyes and issued a command that turned my blood to ice. To avoid scandal, Julian and I were to be introduced as "Brother" and "Sister." Julian's jaw tightened until a vein throbbed in his temple, and when he finally called me "Sister," the word sounded like a curse. I was a prisoner in a mansion with bars on the windows, caught between a "brother" who loathed my existence and a cousin who tried to assault me in my own room. They dressed me in silk armor and expected me to be a doll, a manageable piece of a legacy I never asked for. I sat at a dinner table worth more than my hometown, swallowing oysters that tasted like salt and iodine, while Julian created a physical barrier between me and the wolves. Under the tablecloth, I reached out and squeezed his clenched fist. His fingers uncurled and captured mine in a grip so crushing it felt like a pact signed in the dark. I have a jagged shard of glass in my pocket and five thousand dollars a month to hoard. Julian says the law is a weapon that breaks weak people, but he's about to find out that I'm not a lamb. I'm a survivor, and I'm ready for the casualties.

Billionaire Horror Modern

8.1

His Mistress Abused My Child

8.1

After two years of conducting research in Antarctica, I finally had the chance to video call my daughter. "Mom, I miss you so much." Her voice pulled at my heartstrings, and just as I was about to tell her when I'd be coming home, I noticed the bruises peeking from under her sleeve. No matter how hard I prodded, all she could say was, "I miss you." After hanging up, I grew increasingly restless and couldn't resist calling my husband to ask about it. He sounded irritated: "She's always running around like a wild child. Scrapes and bruises are normal for kids. Why is she acting so pitiful?" "You’re the one making a big deal out of nothing. You're spoiling her!" But the next minute, I saw that my husband's adopted son had posted a new flashy video on social media. In the video, he and my husband were posing together, as close as father and son. In the background was a piano, battered and bent, the very piano I had gone to great lengths to ship across several countries last year as a birthday gift for my daughter! These inconsistencies left me uneasy, and even more troubling was my husband's indifferent attitude.

Modern Mystery Romance

9.0

Love Betrayed

9.0

I've always been upfront. When I found flirty messages between my firefighter boyfriend and a girl I didn't recognize on his phone, I didn't stew over it. I handed the phone to Christian and demanded an explanation. After a long pause, he admitted, "She's someone I rescued during a mission—a girl who's been struggling with depression. I’ve developed some feelings for her. But Violeta, we've been through so much together, from school uniforms to this stage in life. I promise to keep my distance from her now." Christian's sincere eyes met mine, and despite the hurt, I chose to forgive him, allowing the wedding to proceed as planned. On the wedding day, however, his teammate suddenly burst in: "Captain, Emersyn found out about the wedding and is threatening to jump!" The engagement ring slipped from my fingers and landed on the floor as Christian dashed out like a bolt of lightning. Through my tears, I shouted after him, "Christian, if you walk out that door today, it's over between us!" He hesitated briefly but then left without looking back. Ultimately, he broke his promise.

Modern Romance Young Adult

7.8

My Devil Ex-husband's Obsession

7.8

She once called him her husband. Now, she calls him a devil. After catching her husband in his ex's house one too many times, she walked away,pregnant, broken, and done. Four years later, fate laughs when she runs into him again, more powerful, colder, and dangerously obsessed. He wants her back, but not for love. For revenge. For reasons buried beneath his arrogance and her silence. But as she fights the pull between hate and desire, she learns something terrifying The devil she runs into might not be the same man she divorced. He's darker, hungrier... and this time, he's not letting her go.

Action Modern Romance

The Donor Was My Husband

Chapter 2

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