I raised a pregnant mistress for my husband.

I stood there, watching the two people snuggling intimately not far away. Norman gently touched Celia's prominently swollen belly and bent down to put his ear on her stomach. His eyes held an excitement and curiosity I had never seen before, like a young boy. They looked like the most ordinary couple, looking forward to the birth of a new life. If I weren't Norman's wife, perhaps I would also be moved by their happiness. But he is my husband. And Celia, who grew up with Norman, is taken care of by me as if she were my own sister. Half a year ago, Norman brought pregnant Celia to our home. He said Celia's boyfriend left with all the money when he saw she was pregnant. They grew up together, and Celia dared not go home; he couldn't bear to see her homeless. At that time, Celia was haggard from the discomforts of pregnancy. As a woman, I felt sorry for her and agreed to Norman's proposal without hesitation. For half a year, I have been taking care of Celia's daily life, nurturing her from a haggard appearance to a plump and healthy one. Norman told me before we got married that he was a DINK. I don't know what it feels like to be pregnant. But to take care of Celia, I took classes and studied food and nutrition, all because of Norman's words, so I treated her as my own kin. But now, which siblings would have a child together? I watched the two people walk further and further away, and looked down at the test report in my hand. Just half an hour ago, I found out I was pregnant. This child was unexpected. But at that moment, I felt the happiness of being a mother in advance. I knew Norman didn't want children, but I still wanted to talk to him about keeping this gift from heaven. But now I know, he doesn't want children, he just doesn't want children with me. I couldn't help but let out a bitter smile, and the test report fell to the ground. But I didn't care about it and turned to leave in the opposite direction. The sun was shining brightly outside the hospital. I sat on a bench, watching a couple holding hands not far away. The boy's face was full of worry, talking non-stop, and the girl, though seemingly annoyed, her eyes were full of love. Norman and I used to be like that too. We met at the best age of eighteen, full of vitality and youthful arrogance. When Norman pursued me, it was a grand affair, known to the whole school. Later, we were together. We also had big quarrels, and at the angriest, we even talked about breaking up. But Norman never left me. I have a bad temper, and because I was an orphan since childhood, I don't know how to handle intimate relationships. It was he who held me and said it was okay. Then, after we graduated from university, I accompanied him to start a business. After the company stabilized, we got married. I thought we were the happiest couple. I thought life would be smooth sailing from then on. But why... why does God always choose to strike me hard when I let my guard down? I clutched the corner of my clothes tightly, trying desperately to hold back the tears in my eyes. But everything was in vain. My heart felt like a piece of flesh was torn out, and I didn't know what to do. I wanted to cover my chest, but the cold wind still blew in through the hole. In the end, even the bones were full of cold. All the past flashed through my mind like a lantern show. I don't know how long I sat on the bench until a sudden ringtone destroyed my thoughts. It was Norman's call. "Hello..." The moment I answered the phone, I heard Norman's impatient urging and scolding from the other end. "Where have you been! Hurry up and come home! Don't you know we are waiting for dinner? Celia is still pregnant; can't you care about her a little bit more?"