Every month, like clockwork, my wife, Sarah Miller, would go on a "business trip" during her ovulation period. We'd been married for years, but still no kids. I decided to surprise her one trip, flew out to her city, and saw her leaving a fertility clinic with Ethan Reed, a hotshot doctor who’d just returned from studying abroad. Turns out, those “business trips” were for artificial insemination – with Ethan’s sperm.
When I confronted her, she was totally unapologetic. “I’m just borrowing his genes, honey. I want our child to have the best possible start. Does the biological connection really matter? The kid will still call you Dad.”
"Divorce," I said. I wasn’t about to be anyone’s patsy. This kid? Whoever wanted to be the father could be the father. Not me.
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