No one could have anticipated what happened that night.
One shot. That was all it took.
—
A month later.
It was time for the annual health check-up that Dereck and I always did together.
He was busy holding a meeting with his livestream team and asked me to bring back his report.
I sifted through the thick stack of results and found two shocking pieces of news—one good, one bad.
The good news. I was pregnant.
The bad news—Dereck had been diagnosed with azoospermia.
He could never possibly make a woman pregnant.
Taking a deep breath, I fed his medical report into the shredder without hesitation. Then, I printed out a falsified report showing normal results and slipped it into the pile.
This secret would come in handy someday. But not yet.
For now, I chose to share the good news, not the bad news.
I grabbed my phone and sent him a message on Instagram to tell him I was pregnant.
Dereck couldn’t contain his excitement. He sent me a voice message, his joy spilling through every word.
"Kiara, I knew it! I knew we’d have a baby someday."
Soon after, another notification popped up—he’d posted on Instagram.
His post read. [Thank you, my darling, for giving me the joy of becoming a father. @Kiara]