Van’s sudden outburst caused the entire room to fall into a stunned silence. Conversations faded, heads turned, and whispers spread like wildfire. No one knew what was about to unfold, but everyone could feel that something explosive was coming.
Back in university, I was known as the handsome and smart guy everyone admired. Many girls liked me, but I never let myself get carried away by love or relationships. My family had nothing. Every day I juggled classes and part-time jobs just to keep up with tuition. I barely had time to sleep, let alone think about dating.
Among the girls who followed me around was Van, my classmate. She didn’t just admire me. She pursued me relentlessly and tried every way she could to make my life easier. She bought me food when she noticed I skipped meals. She bought me clothes when she saw I only had a few worn-out shirts. She even paid part of my tuition when things got too hard.
I didn’t have real feelings for her. Not the kind a man should have for the woman he chooses. But because her family supported my studies, I gave in and agreed to be with her. At the time, I told myself it was temporary, just until I could stand on my own.
After we graduated, I wanted to stay in the city and build a career. The easiest way was to marry Van so her parents could help me find a job and give me a stable start. But living together as husband and wife only made something painfully clear. I didn’t love her at all. In fact, I felt uncomfortable even touching her. The distance between us grew, even though we lived under the same roof.
Three years passed. Still no children. Van gently urged me many times to get checked, but I brushed her off and insisted everything was fine with me. By then, my career had taken off. I was no longer dependent on her family, and the more independent I became, the more impatient I felt with the life I had built with her. I convinced myself that I deserved a love that felt real. So I started drifting away, colder and colder each day.
My indifference crushed her spirit. Eventually, she couldn’t take the emotional distance anymore and signed the divorce papers. With a quiet, tired look, she walked out of my life. After that, I felt strangely relieved. Soon after, I began a relationship with a beautiful business partner. She was elegant, confident, successful. Everything I thought I wanted. After more than a year together, we decided to get married.
I didn’t invite Van. I didn’t even think about inviting her. But somehow, she appeared anyway, completely unannounced, as if she had every right to be there. And she wasn’t hiding anything. She walked in with a noticeable pregnant belly and a calm smile, congratulating us as if it were the most natural thing in the world. Her arrival stopped the entire room. People stared. You could almost hear their thoughts buzzing in the air.
When Van reached us, she said slowly and clearly, “If I could go back in time, I would never have wasted my youth on a man who didn’t love me and only used my money. My biggest regret was marrying you.”
Then she turned as if to leave. But my bride, trying to sound sincere and composed, asked one single question that changed everything.
“Whose child are you carrying?”
The question hit me harder than I expected. We had been divorced for over a year. The baby couldn’t be mine. But then a terrifying thought formed in my head. Why had she never gotten pregnant during our three years of marriage? Did that mean I was the problem?
Van paused, then faced us again. Her voice was steady.
“For three years, your husband and I couldn’t have children. I asked him to get tested many times, but he always blamed me. I went for tests over and over, and every result showed I was completely healthy. After the divorce, I met another man. And on the very first night we were together, I got pregnant.”
My bride’s bouquet slipped from her hands and fell to the floor. Gasps rippled through the guests. I stood frozen, unable to process anything. The humiliation was so sharp it felt physical.
When Van finally left, I tried to calm my girlfriend down, telling her we could deal with this later and finish the ceremony first. But she stepped back, refusing to take my hand.
She told me she wanted to cancel the wedding immediately. She insisted we go for a fertility test before she made any decision about marrying me. Then she said something that stung deeper than anything Van could have said.
“My brother and his wife were married for nine years without children. They poured their savings into treatments and still ended up divorced. I don’t want to repeat their mistake. A woman’s value drops after a failed marriage. I don’t want my first marriage to be with a man who can’t have children.”
I couldn’t blame her. I couldn’t even be angry at Van. Every painful moment was a consequence of my own selfishness and the way I had treated someone who loved me with her whole heart.
I built my life on convenience and calculation, and now everything was collapsing. If only I had treated Van with kindness. If only I had appreciated the years she gave me. Maybe I wouldn’t be standing there that day, watching my future crumble in front of everyone.
But regret changes nothing. And that was the price I had to pay.