I refuse to divorce my husband

Passing the antenatal clinic, a familiar voice drew me in. Through the glass door, I saw my husband John accompanying a woman for her prenatal check-up. "John, do you think our baby will be a boy or a girl?" the woman inside asked. I looked closer and recognised her. She was Melinda, my husband's newly hired assistant. I watched as my husband gently stroked her belly, his voice filled with doting affection: "It doesn't matter. I'll love the child no matter what." "But the child can't call you 'Daddy' in public." Melinda lowered her head, looking pitifully vulnerable. As she finished speaking, tears fell from her eyes, her gaze filled with profound sorrow. John immediately stepped forward, embracing her tenderly as if to soothe her pain. My sharp nails dug deep into my arm, leaving vivid crimson marks. I felt no physical pain, yet tears welled unbidden in my eyes. Inside, the conversation continued. "Rest assured, Melinda. I'll see this through for you." "If Jane won't bear children, I will divorce her." "Melinda, I will marry you." I couldn't believe these words were coming from John's mouth. For seven years, we had been the model couple in our social circle. John loved me, and I loved John. Before we married, he had clearly stated children weren't important. If I didn't want to have them, I didn't have to. I didn't know if he no longer loved me, or if he simply wanted a child. My body shook uncontrollably. In disbelief, I stormed in: "Is she carrying your child?" The moment he saw me, he pushed Melinda away from his embrace. This action was his body's instinctive, unthinking reaction. John: "Darling... you..." My grief and anger mingled as I stood tear-streaked, waiting for his excuses. John looked at me helplessly. His mind raced, searching for excuses to justify himself. But the truth was staring him in the face—he couldn’t find any. His mouth opened several times, yet no words came out. Seeing John’s reaction, Melinda began to make a scene: “It’s my fault, Jane. I shouldn’t have—” Her voice broke. “I’m pregnant. Please—let me be with John. Please, let my child have a father.” Her already wet cheeks grew damp once more, a picture of sorrow. John softened at the sight. He looked torn, pity and shame warring behind his eyes. Before I could respond, John rebuked me: "Melinda's here for her prenatal check-up. What are you doing here?" "Do you have some other man on the side? Do you come for prenatal appointments too?" His tone carried an unprecedented chill. I couldn't help but feel pity for myself, my heart heavy with sorrow. To defend Melinda, he'd twisted the truth so blatantly. "John, don't take your anger out on her." Melinda kept sobbing, leaning into the melodrama, and something in me snapped. I struck out. The slap landed before I even thought about it. For a second the room hung suspended—the sharp sound of skin on skin, the stunned look on Melinda’s face. My hand trembled. John moved faster than I could believe. He clamped my wrist midair, yanking my arm back with a force that left me winded. His face had gone pale; fury and something harder—resolution—sharpened his features. His face was ashen, his expression furious: "Jane, don't you dare harm Melinda. I'll draft the divorce papers immediately." Melinda shot me a triumphant look. Before leaving, I clutched John's medical report tightly in my bag. "John, I won't agree to a divorce." "Put away that desire for my signature." After all, you're dying.