On the Day I Gave Birth, My Ex Demanded His Baby Back

The woman lying beneath him was Rachel Fox, Owen's junior colleague at the firm. “Ahhh!!” A scream. Owen yanked the covers over her without missing a beat. I lost it. Smashed the newlywed condo to pieces—every last thing I could get my hands on. Owen sat on the couch. Not a flicker of panic on his face. He watched me tear the place apart, cold-eyed, and then one line ripped the mask clean off. “Margaret, why can't you just play dumb?” “Some things are better left alone. Did catching us really do you any good?” The wrecked condo. The two of them on the couch, shameless as anything. All at once, the whole thing just felt pointless. “We're done.” Owen didn't believe it. Four months pregnant, the wedding days away—he was certain I wouldn't follow through. So he sat there looking down at me, waiting for me to cave. I didn't. When I packed my things and left, I didn't look back once. A string of beeps from the landline cut through the memory. “Maggie, what's going on?” “Your phone's disconnected!” “And why is he blasting wedding invites in the class group chat again?” The voice on the other end was Barbara Henson, my college roommate and the only close friend I still kept in touch with. She knew everything between me and Owen. “Owen messaged me acting like it was no big deal. Asked if I'd cooled off yet.” “I couldn't stand it, so I had Francis change my number.” Barbara let out a dry laugh on the other end. “The nerve on that man.” “We can't just let him run wild in the group chat, though. How about this—come to the college reunion next month?” “Sure.” I agreed without a second thought. I was curious what kind of face Owen would make when he saw me. The day after my postpartum confinement ended, I showed up at the reunion as promised. “Maggie!” I waved and took the seat beside her. A quick scan of the room—no sign of Owen. Barbara set out my bowl and chopsticks. “He's not here yet. Turns out he bankrolled this whole thing. Probably planning some grand entrance to dazzle us all.” That got a laugh out of me. “Margaret, how come you didn't come with Owen?” “Right? You two have been together what, seven, eight years? After all those ups and downs, you're finally tying the knot.” “You're not going to bail on us old classmates again, are you?” The chatter came from every direction, each remark tinged with the eagerness of an audience settling in for a show. I knew what they were really talking about—last year's canceled wedding. “This time, I guarantee you'll all be raising a glass at our wedding!” Before I could say a word, Owen's voice cut through the room. Gray suit, looking every inch the slick fraud he was, he walked straight toward me and dropped his hand onto my shoulder like it belonged there. “Why'd you come in alone?” That easy, familiar tone—as if nothing had ever happened between us. I shrugged his hand off and shifted away. “Keep your hands to yourself.” My voice was low enough to drown under the noise of the crowd. People swarmed over to toast Owen and make small talk. Everyone wanted to stay on good terms with him—just in case they needed a favor someday. Barbara and I couldn't help but roll our eyes. Once dinner started, Owen took the seat beside me. His very first sentence made my skin crawl. “I knew you'd show up the second you saw that wedding invitation.” “Margaret, I made senior partner this year.” “You could look for the rest of your life and never land a husband half as good as me.” “There's only so long you can throw a tantrum, Margaret. You've been gone a whole year—don't you think it's time to come back?”

Owen frowned, as if my breakup a year ago were some tantrum I'd thrown out of immaturity. At the same time, he was showing off his accomplishments. All of it sounded ridiculous and grating to my ears. “Owen, we already broke up.” “Do you understand what breaking up means?” My face was cold, and I didn't so much as glance at him when I spoke. Back when Owen and I were in love, I'd actually liked that face of his. Now, seeing it again, all I felt was irritation and the urge to look away. “Margaret, don't I know you? There's no way you'd actually leave me.” “Fine, fine. I'll say I was wrong, okay? Now hurry up and take the step down while I'm offering. This chance won't come around again.” Arrogant and self-important—every word reeking of smug, patronizing entitlement. “Owen, I came here specifically to make this clear to you.” “When I broke up with you, I meant it. It wasn't a tantrum. It wasn't spite. There is no going back.” “So from now on, stop harassing me.” “Are we clear?” I set down my chopsticks, stared straight into those eyes, and said every word like I was hammering it in. Owen's smile froze on his face, and whatever he'd been about to say died in his throat. “Is this still about Rachel? I ended things with her. For real this time.” “Maggie, I really do want to marry you.” I'd heard that line countless times. Believed it every single time, before. Now it just sounded absurd. Owen and I had been together since freshman year. Right after graduation, he proposed. “Maggie, you're the only one for me. For the rest of my life.” That one sentence trapped me for years. To help Owen get a foothold in the city, I begged my parents to pull strings and get him into a white-shoe law firm. “Maggie, just wait a little longer.” “Once I make partner, I'll marry you. I want your parents to see I'm worth something!” I said yes, and started working my parents' circle to bring him clients. Owen delivered. Everyone at the firm thought highly of him. He made partner in under two years. I thought the hard part was behind us, that everything was finally settled. That was when Owen changed. He started going out constantly, entertaining at one event after another, staying out all night. And when he came home, there was always something on him that shouldn't have been there. I confronted him more than once. The fights were explosive, hysterical, constant. “What are you making a scene about!” “Everything I'm doing is for our future!” “It's networking. Don't you get that?” Owen would snap at me, insisting there was nothing between him and those women. I couldn't move forward, couldn't go back. Everything I'd already given up was making every decision for me. So I forgave him, again and again. Chose to believe him, again and again—even when the sadness surged up in the middle of the night and drowned me. Believing was all I had left. Then I started finding things. In his car, in his coat pockets. Lipstick. Stockings. Underwear. A hair clip. Even a used condom. Fight after fight drained almost everything I had. And every single time, Owen would calm me down the same way: by dangling marriage. “Margaret, I really do want to marry you.” “Why do you always have to jump at shadows and start problems out of nothing?” In Owen's eyes, none of it mattered enough to affect what we had. “What guy out there doesn't have a few women on the side?” “Why do you always have to blow everything out of proportion?” Years of that kind of constant pressure ground away at who I was until I couldn't recognize myself. I kept retreating, tolerating one humiliating thing after another. The worst fight happened on my birthday. Owen never came home that night. But my phone lit up with a video of him checking into a hotel room with someone else.

I played that video in front of Owen, over and over. “Owen, I told you. As long as you kept it away from me, I could take it.” My voice shook the whole time. “How far are you going to push me?” He didn't care. Same lines, same empty reassurances. That time, I broke up with him. The next day, I found out I was pregnant. Owen was thrilled. He held my hands, earnest and intent. “Margaret, I'll really change.” “Right now the most important thing is for you to have this baby.” “Let's get married, okay?” I believed him again. But the pregnancy before a wedding gave Owen's mother all the ammunition she needed. She picked me apart over everything—and then insisted the marriage come with no gift, no dowry, not a single dollar from their side. Owen sat across from me and said nothing. “All my money will be yours eventually.” “What difference does the bride price make right now?” He said it with his head down the whole time, scrolling through his phone. I didn't find out until later—Rachel Fox showed up right around then. While I was pregnant, before the wedding ever happened. That was the lesson Owen taught me, and it was the worst one of my life. The memory broke off. I glanced back at Owen. “I don't want to marry you.” The finality in my voice caught him off guard. But it only lasted a moment before he slid right back into form. “Stop lying.” “Margaret, you were four months along when you ran. ” “You're telling me you got rid of it at four months? No way you could do that.” I almost laughed. So that was it. Owen thought I'd had his baby. That was why he'd rushed back a year later, desperate to patch things up. “Sorry to disappoint.” “I didn't have your child.” My lips curled into a cold smile. “Owen, the confidence on you.” “A man who betrayed me again and again and again. What made you think I'd carry your baby to term?” He clearly didn't believe me. “Margaret, I'm a senior partner now. Do you know how many women are lining up to marry me?” That part wasn't a lie. Half the women at this table probably wanted a piece of Owen Finch. A few of them hadn't taken their eyes off him all night. “Margaret, quit being stubborn.” “Four months along—you wouldn't have gone through with it. You couldn't.” Before I could respond, his hand reached for mine. The next second he grabbed my wrist and stood up. I didn't move. Stayed right where I was. He tugged at me several times. I still didn't budge. When he realized I wasn't going to cooperate, he decided to put on the show by himself. “Hey, everyone—since we're all together tonight, I want to announce that Margaret and I are getting married. You're all invited.” “Don't worry about gifts—just show up!” Applause thundered across the table. Envious looks, congratulations coming from every direction. “Margaret, you've gotta think about the future.” “Bring the kid back. I'll take you to get everything sorted—put my name on the paperwork.” “I've already talked to my mom. I'll pay the bride price myself. How's that?” He sat back down and leaned in close, his voice low. I gave him one sidelong look and let out a scoff. “Owen, nobody cares about your pocket change.” I shoved back my chair and stood. “I am not marrying Owen Finch.” “We broke up a year ago.” “Since Owen likes making sure everyone knows his business, let me go ahead and tell you why.” I snapped my fingers, and a PDF appeared on the private room's big screen. The photo on the first page was Owen and Rachel Fox. “Isn't that the girl a year below us? I remember she used to chase after Owen.” “God, isn't Rachel Fox at the same firm as Owen now?” “Oh my God! Owen cheated that many times?” “Holy shit, Margaret really put up with all that!” “I knew it. Someone with Margaret's personality would never have run from her own wedding without a reason.” …… As the screen flipped page after page, Owen's ugly past was laid completely bare. His face had gone a deep, burning red. Every trace of the composure he'd walked in with was gone. He was too arrogant. Thought I was still waiting for him. Thought I'd come back. But what he didn't know was that the moment I chose to leave that wedding and end things, we were done. Completely. “Turn it off!” Owen's roar filled the entire room. The manager rushed in, flustered, and killed the screen. Dead silence. “Margaret, was that really necessary?” “So a guy slips up a few times—big deal. I'm still willing to marry you, aren't I? What more do you want?” The thickness of this man's skin was beyond anything I could have imagined. I let out a short, cold laugh and shook my head. “Owen, I don't need you to marry me.” “I'm already married.” “Bigamy is a felony. I'm not stupid.” That shut him up cold. He just stared at me, eyes blown wide. “You're married?”