I Carried My Husband’s Mistress’s Baby and Walked Away Novel – When I found out again that the IVF baby I was carrying was actually an embryo created from my husband and his mistress, I didn’t lose it and force a miscarriage the way I had before. This time, I chose to stay quiet, carry the pregnancy to term, and give birth to him. From that day on, I became the hottest scandal in the country-club set—catnip for thousands of tabloids and gossip sites.
Every cheating tycoon wished he could have a wife as “gracious” as me—one who would look the other way. The side pieces in our social circle thanked their lucky stars and prayed they’d get a chance to seduce my husband. And the other old-money wives treated me like a disgrace, something they were embarrassed to stand near. After a full-term pregnancy, I delivered safely. The moment I came out of the delivery room, Julian Prescott leaned down, just like always, and pressed a gentle kiss to my forehead. “Jenna’s afraid of pain, and you can’t carry a pregnancy,” he said softly. “So it worked out that you could do it for us.” “Don’t worry,” he added. “She only wants to be a mom.
She won’t threaten your status as Mrs. Prescott. The one I love has always been you.” Everyone said I loved Julian so much I couldn’t beat the mistress, so I’d chosen to join them instead. But only I knew the truth. This was the baby Mrs. Evelyn Prescott, the Prescott family matriarch, had forced me to deliver by holding that old life-debt over my head. The Prescott family’s firstborn heir had finally arrived. Now the divorce agreement she’d promised me should finally take effect. *** When the anesthesia wore off, pain dragged me up from the dark.
The second I opened my eyes, Julian was beaming, cradling the baby in his arms. “Babe, Grandma already picked a name for our son,” he said. “Just sign here, and we can get his birth certificate filed.” He handed me the birth certificate form. Seeing the name William Prescott printed there snapped my foggy brain wide awake. William. It was the name I’d once tied to my own baby boy, a promise to myself, a wish I’d made for the son I never got to meet. It had been our wish for love, too. And it was also the name the Prescott firstborn had carried for thirteen generations in the family genealogy. Back then, when kidnappers had taken Julian, I’d thrown myself in front of a blade meant for him.
The wound wrecked my body, and after that, I could barely get pregnant at all. Then my first IVF pregnancy ended the night I caught him cheating with my illegitimate half-sister, Jenna Nolan, in our marital bed. He shoved me, and I lost so much blood that the doctors had to induce labor. It was a baby boy who had already taken shape. After my post-miscarriage recovery leave, I’d planned to put up a memorial headstone and lay him to rest in the family plot. But a psychic claimed he didn’t count as a full-term loss, and it would be bad luck to do it then, so we had to wait. That waiting stretched into more than a year.
Throughout this pregnancy, Julian whispered in my ear more times than I could count that he wanted to give the bastard I was carrying the name William. I never agreed. But now, looking at the hope in his eyes, I only felt sick at the memory of how hard I’d once cried for him. I knew Grandma Evelyn would never choose that name. It was Jenna—who loved stealing everything that was mine—who got in his ear and fed him the idea. The divorce was already set in stone, and my baby didn’t need that cold-blooded man’s last name, either. “Whatever,” I said. “Call him whatever you want.” “I only have one condition. Don’t put my name on the ‘Mother’ line. My own son’s spirit would be upset.” Julian froze, guilt flickering across his eyes. “Claire, don’t worry,” he said quickly. “I’m only using the fact that she shares your blood.
Jenna and I…” He didn’t get to finish. A loud bang sounded outside the door. “You little slut,” an older woman shrieked. “Who said you could show your face in here?” Jenna hit the floor with a thud, sobbing as she looked up. “I just wanted to see the baby,” she cried. Grandma Evelyn stood over her, her cane striking down in sharp, furious blows. “Get out!” In that instant, Julian moved like a startled animal. He didn’t even hand the baby to the nurse. He just dumped him onto my chest and sprinted outside.
The fresh stitches in my incision tore under the weight, and the pain was so sharp I screamed. He left like he hadn’t heard a thing. The way he threw himself between the cane and Jenna, shielding her with his body, made everything he’d just said to comfort me feel like a joke. “Grandma!” he shouted. “This was my idea. I did it for the Prescott family. Don’t hurt someone innocent!” Grandma Evelyn went still for a beat, then her gaze snapped toward me. When she saw the white sheets turning red beneath me, she swung her cane down on Julian’s shoulder. “You animal,” she snarled. “Her wound isn’t healed. How could you make her hold the baby?” Panic and remorse flashed across Julian’s face as he lurched back toward me.
But Jenna suddenly crumpled, collapsing straight down. Julian caught her, and in the same breath, turned as if he were going to carry her out. Grandma Evelyn planted herself in front of him, blocking the doorway. “You’re not leaving,” she said. “Your wife is still in there. Do you even want this family anymore?”