Chris never wanted to ring that doorbell.
“I just want to get this over with,” he muttered outside his parents’ mansion.
Amanda squeezed his arm. “They’re your parents. We want them at the wedding. We want them in our future… in our children’s lives.”
He forced a nod. What she didn’t know was that his world had already cracked days earlier.
For years, Chris’ wealthy, status-obsessed parents had refused to accept Amanda. They had bigger plans — specifically, Ciara Geoffrey, the polished daughter of a respected private clinic board member. A perfect match for the Castillo name.
Amanda? She was “just” an assistant.
But Chris had changed after college. He no longer cared about country clubs and legacy connections. He wanted something real. And Amanda was real.
From the moment they collided in a parking lot, he was hooked.
His parents weren’t.
At their first dinner together, they told him to dump her while she was in the restroom.
“She’s not your class,” his father warned.
“Why not Ciara?” his mother pressed.
Chris refused.
Amanda stayed hopeful. She kept calling his mom, planning dinners, even including her in wedding ideas. What she didn’t tell them was that she and Chris were already trying for a baby. She wanted it to be a surprise — the kind that might finally melt their hearts.
That dinner was supposed to change everything.
Instead, it destroyed it.
When Amanda nervously announced, “I’m pregnant,” silence swallowed the room.
Then Mrs. Castillo exploded.
“He’s infertile!”
Chris sat frozen. Days earlier, medical results had told him he could never father a child. He hadn’t found the courage to tell Amanda yet. He had been terrified she would leave.
Now his mother was screaming.
“You cheated! You’re trying to baby-trap my son!”
Amanda shook her head, pale. “We’ve been trying for months. What do you mean infertile? That’s impossible!”
But Chris didn’t move. Didn’t defend her. Didn’t speak.
His father ordered her out. His mother physically dragged her to the door.
Amanda screamed his name as it slammed shut.
He stayed seated.
Days later, he left their apartment without facing her. He left the medical papers on the counter with a note:
I’m infertile. Completely. I hope you have a happy life — just not with me.
Amanda was shattered.
She knew she hadn’t cheated. She knew the baby was his. But Chris refused contact. His parents threatened police when she tried to speak to him.
So she walked away.
“I’ll raise this baby alone,” she yelled toward their mansion. “You’re the ones missing out.”
And she did.
She gave birth to a little boy named Paul — a child who looked exactly like Chris. Blue eyes. Same features. A carbon copy.
Some nights were suffocating. But she persevered. She didn’t need to trap anyone. She had her job, support, and strength.
“They don’t know what they’re missing,” she whispered to her son. “Let them eat cake at their country clubs.”
Meanwhile, Chris drifted.
His parents comforted him. Ciara reappeared. He didn’t fight it this time. He didn’t fight anything.
They started dating. They got engaged. Wedding planning began.
“If this is my life,” he thought, “fine.”
Then fate intervened.
One afternoon, Amanda bumped into him on the street.
It was awkward. Tense.
He accidentally grabbed her phone when she dropped it — and saw a baby’s photo on the screen.
A baby boy.
Blue eyes.
“Him?” he whispered.
“My son,” she replied sharply. “Mine.”
Something unsettled him.
Her tone. Her confidence. The way she didn’t flinch.
Could he have been wrong?
The answer came during wedding planning.
At Ciara’s mother’s house, Mrs. Geoffrey gushed about future grandchildren.
“I’m infertile,” Chris reminded her.
She laughed.
“Oh, that was just our plan.”
Silence.
Her face drained of color as she realized what she’d admitted.
Plan?
In seconds, everything clicked.
The clinic. The results. The timing.
It had all been staged.
His parents. Ciara’s parents. A paid-off lab technician. Fake reports. Fabricated scans. Even his doctor had been deceived by falsified paperwork.
They had manipulated him into leaving Amanda — knowing she desperately wanted children. They assumed infertility would break them apart.
Instead, her pregnancy made their scheme even easier.
Chris walked out immediately.
“I hope you rot in hell,” he told them.
He drove straight to Amanda’s apartment — the one she had never left. He still had a key.
Inside, he found a blue nursery with clouds painted on the walls. Toys scattered. Evidence of a life he had missed.
He broke down.
When Amanda came home and found him there, she nearly called the police.
But he told her everything.
The lies. The conspiracy. The betrayal.
She listened in stunned silence.
“I should’ve believed you,” he admitted. “I was afraid. I was weak. I’m so sorry.”
“You were an idiot,” she said honestly. “But now it makes sense.”
Tears fell for both of them.
“Life’s too short for grudges,” she finally whispered.
“And can I be in his life?” he asked.
“That… I don’t know yet,” she answered truthfully. “It’s been hard. It’s not what we planned.”
“I’ll spend the rest of my life making it right,” he promised. “Even if we never get back together — you and him are my family.”
She studied his swollen, remorseful eyes.
“First,” she said softly, “you should meet Paul. Your son.”
Then, with a faint, familiar spark of her old strength:
“And after that… we’re suing Mr. Geoffrey.”
Chris laughed through tears.
For the first time in nearly two years, hope felt real again.
