My wife confessed her darkest secret in Japanese, not knowing I was fluent.

I gave her boring details about conference rooms and PowerPoint presentations, all completely made up.

She talked about her day, mentioning she’d cleaned the house and watched some shows. She carefully left out the part about her boyfriend spending the evening.

That night after we got ready for bed, I moved closer to me and put her hand on my chest in a way that made her intentions clear.

I rolled away slightly and told her I was exhausted.

The thought of physical contact with her made my skin crawl. She looked hurt for a second but didn’t push it.

I lay awake for hours staring at the ceiling and counting down the weeks.

The next morning, I called Wallace and scheduled a meeting to review the security footage.

I showed him selected clips of Jason arriving, kissing Achy, and spending the evening.

Wallace watched carefully and took notes. He reminded me that in our state, adultery had limited impact on divorce proceedings.

The real issue was going to be the paternity challenge and any financial claims Aky might make.

Wallace pulled out a legal pad and started drafting what he called a post-birth action plan.

He stressed that I absolutely could not sign any birth certificate or acknowledgement of paternity forms at the hospital.

He warned me this would be the hardest moment, because Ike would have just given birth and I’d be refusing to sign papers.

But it was legally necessary to protect myself.

I spent the next afternoon reading everything I could find about paternity testing procedures.

I didn’t even hesitate before deciding that I would take the expedited option, results in 24 to 48 hours.

The cost didn’t matter when weighed against spending even one extra day trapped in uncertainty.

I bookmarked three different testing services and emailed the information to Wallace.

Reading his email gave me a strange sense of relief, like I was finally taking concrete steps.

That Friday, Ikey’s mother arrived for the weekend with a bag full of baby clothes.

I watched from the kitchen as she hugged Aiki, speaking rapid Japanese about how excited she was.

They moved into the living room, and I brought them tea, playing my role as the attentive husband.

Her mother was controlling in a way I’d noticed before but never really analyzed.

What struck me most was how her mother touched Aki’s belly constantly, but she barely looked at me.

I understood she couldn’t quite face the person she’d helped her daughter deceive.

Saturday evening, Robert came over for dinner and mentioned something that made everyone go quiet.

He’d been setting up a college fund for his future grandchild, putting aside money every month.

The table went completely silent. I saw Ike and her mother exchange a look across the table.

The weight of their deception suddenly felt bigger than just what they’d done to me. It extended to Robert.

He kept talking about the fund, completely unaware of the tension crackling around him.

I forced myself to respond normally, thanking him for his generosity.

After dinner, I asked Robert if I could talk to him about something, using work decisions as my excuse.

We went out to the garage, the air smelling like sawdust and varnish.

He gave me fatherly advice about prioritizing family.

Hearing his genuine concern, I felt overwhelmed by the urge to tell him everything.

But Wallace’s warnings echoed in my head, so I swallowed the truth and nodded along.

He clapped me on the shoulder and told me I was going to be a great father. I had to turn away so he wouldn’t see my face.

Over the next few weeks, Ike moved into her third trimester.

I provided practical support like heating pads and extra pillows, but I kept an emotional distance.

She noticed, asking if something was wrong at work or if I was having second thoughts.

I blamed work stress. Every conversation felt like a performance, and maintaining the facade exhausted me.

The prenatal class happened on a Tuesday evening at the hospital. I felt like an actor in a play going through motions that had no authentic meaning.

The instructor asked partners to practice supportive touch. I placed my hands on Ikey’s back with clinical detachment.

She turned her head to give me a confused look.

On the drive home, she asked again if I was okay, and I told her I was just feeling overwhelmed by the responsibility.

Maria called me the following Monday to say her final investigation report was complete.

The report laid out the timeline of Akiy’s affair with Matt, the $5,000 payment, the ongoing relationship with Jason, and the family gathering recordings.

I flipped through the pages feeling a strange mix of vindication and sadness.

That week, I had a therapy session where D’Vorah asked me what outcome would actually satisfy me.

I realized I didn’t want Ike to suffer or be destroyed. I just wanted to be free.

I wanted a clean separation with my dignity intact.

This clarity helped me refine my approach with Wallace, focusing on legal protection rather than dramatic exposure.

I created a new email account that evening and began forwarding important documents to it.

Everything I might need was backed up in case she tried to delete or destroy evidence.

Ikey’s due date was now just two weeks away.

I spent a Saturday afternoon assembling the crib Robert had bought, knowing I’d probably never use this furniture.

Ikey came in and stood in the doorway watching me, her hand resting on her belly.

She asked if I was excited, and I said yes.

She put her arms around me from behind, and I stood there counting down the days until I could finally end this performance.

Wallace’s email arrived on a Thursday morning with the documents for review.

The petition for legal separation laid out grounds and requested temporary orders.