GAY Sugar Daddy

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A bad marriage is worse than no marriage at all. That's what I said to my sister every time she confides to me about his husband's infidelity.

That's what I also told Owen, that if he has a change of heart, just let me know and let me go. Because we'll never know what the future holds; it's better to be prepared than be burned when everything's too late. Afterall we started our relationship with honesty before romance and have been practising this for as long as I can remember.

We started our life as husband and wife at Aberdeen a week after our grand wedding in London. It was rushed but it was definitely perfect, just like the one I've been dreaming of. Thank God for a rich husband that we managed to afford all the last-minute details that come with absolutely ridiculous surplus.

I got off the pills the moment we step foot on Scotland. We've agreed to start our family right away since Owen volunteered to be the house-husband while I climb the career ladder.

Everything was great, really. The first four months was a blast, mainly because I was still new at the company and we're still at our honeymoon phase.

Then it turned hectic when I started receiving important assignments at work, which mostly because I brought my famous celebrity husband to my company's Christmas party.

Oh yes, I unintentionally used my husband as the key to unlock my big bosses' trust. Also because they played a few sports together during the weekend so Owen somehow won me all the important projects.

We blamed the stress and my overwork when we're still not pregnant after almost a year. I was too busy with work while he has too much free time at home so like all other married couples, we fought a lot, especially on that.

We fought, but we also had amazing make-up sex afterwards. I'd always smile at random time remembering how cute he was every time he fell for my charms; he'd forgotten he's mad with me whenever I use all those lame pick-up lines or straight up kiss him to shut him up.

But we knew it happened because he had too much free time so he decided to go back to modelling, doing it part-time. He'd travel a couple times a month and to be honest, I had been eagerly waiting for it each time because I desperately needed to work without the constant reminder of what a bad wife I was for ditching my husband to sleep alone while I was finishing work until late at night.

Our relationship strained when summer was approaching because I broke my promise to him and my besties; I cancelled on our yearly summer vacation.

I just couldn't leave my work, it'd be irresponsible for me to dump all my deadlines to my coworkers for the mere reason that I wanted to take leave for a vacation. They have small kids and a tired spouse to attend to compared to me who has none of those.

Well, maybe just a spouse who's tired of my work antics.

Yesterday he was so mad to know I'd be travelling to Italy for work without telling him because that could have been our anniversary trip cum work trip, since it's so hard for me to take a leave.

"I didn't know about it until Friday." I hissed at him as he brought the luggages outside. Despite being mad, he still bought a ticket to join me in Milan. That's us; no matter how mad we are to each other we'll never leave one behind.

"Yet you still didn't tell me until Saturday." He replied in the same tone, opening the door for me to enter our Black Uber.

"Because it's too last minute. I didn't think you'd want to come."

"What do you think I'm gonna do here by myself then? You'll be gone for a week. A whole week! Oh for God sake." He muttered some curses under his breath as he sat next to me, slamming the door shut.

The entire journey to the airport was silent and tense as hell. But I didn't feel like rectifying it, not in this small space. If we're gonna shout like we did at home, we can do it at the airport.

"You always do this. Every fucking time." He whispered to himself while putting the luggages on the trolley but I heard that despite having my eyes glued to the phone screen to find the flight booking number.

"Say it to my face if you have anything to say."

He straightened himself and left the luggage he's about to put on top of the luggage mountain, staring at me as intense as my gaze to him.

"You never tell me things. It's always last minute. Always."

I took a deep breath before replying him with gritted teeth, "How many times do you want me to tell you I. Just. Knew. Last. Friday. NIGHT!"

"Why can't you tell me on that Friday night then?"

"I was home around 10. I was exhausted. All I wanted to do was get some food and sleep. Why does it matter Friday night or Saturday morning. Why are you being-" such an asshole.

But my period pain somehow had gotten too bad that I had to stop talking and leaned forward with my hand squeezing my stomach. It hurts. It fucking hurts.

"What happened? Are you okay baby?" He rushed to me and took me into his arms before I kiss the floor. Tears started to wet my eyes as I heard him keeps calling me. Oh God why does it hurt so much.


I woke up on the hospital bed with the information that I got lucky I arrived on time because if I was late for even a minute, I might have lost my uterus. Or worse, I might have lost my life too.

The fibroids that have been growing in me which is the culprit of my intense menstrual pain since I was 14, well one of them somehow ruptured hence the loss of consciousness at the airport.

The doctor managed to take out most of the fibroids during the surgery but there were some left because they're inoperable.

Was I sad to be diagnosed with endometriosis? Oh yes. I was sad for the first few days. Then I got mad at myself and the doctor who shoved my symptoms by prescribing birth control pills instead of sending me for further tests. God knows if I was diagnosed earlier I wouldn't have it this bad.

Because right now I'm officially one of those women who's battling infertility. The only way to have my own baby was through IVF, though the doctor couldn't promise for a full term pregnancy since there were still fibroids all over the place that they failed to remove.

"I love you no matter what, Precious. I love you then, I love you now, and I will love you forever." He chanted those words when I was asleep, as he had been every single night ever since we found out about my infertility.

Having a baby had been his dream since we discussed about marriage a year ago in Australia. How could I deny his dream when all these while, he's been supporting mine to the point of breaking his?

Career, family, he had left all that just to be here with me. How much more selfish could I be to hold him up for the rest of his life?


It took three months for us to discuss about what happened and finally, we reached for a decision to go for IVF.

He wouldn't leave even when I said it pained me tremendously to not be able to give him a baby. So the only option for me was to go for IVF, because I too love him too much that I'd do anything for him.

I promised myself I'd prioritise this, even work would come second. Or third, because my husband mattered the most.

Needle poking, egg retrieval, embryo transfer, the entire process was physically and emotionally challenging but we had each other, four weeks went by so slow but we were finally at the point of testing if we're pregnant.

The first implantation didn't work so we used the remaining frozen embryo for another trial. It also gave another heart wretching negative.

We removed ourselves from Aberdeen for two weeks to celebrate Christmas and New Year with our family in Chicago and Texas. But a month later we went for our second IVF cycle.

I was only 25 but when the obgyn told me I had very low egg count on top of my endometriosis, my heart dropped again. Like the first round of IVF, we only managed to retrieve 5 eggs. Which only three of them successfully grow into healthy embryos.

The positive result we had from the pregnancy test was the best news we've ever had, I've ever had. It was even better than when I got my first important assignment at work, or when I was picked as the top student in my class.

I finally felt like a woman. A true woman.

But it was a chemical pregnancy; we didn't get any heartbeat when we went for our first ultrasound. I cried, I fucking cried on the exam table because I've had too many failed attempts; two from the first IVF and now another three from this round.

God really didn't want me to be a mother.

But you know what, I am one hell of a determined woman. I was promoted to a senior engineer in just two years so this is nothing. This should be nothing.

We started our third round of IVF after New Year, because I needed to enjoy my wine and sex. I needed to recharge.

But once we're back in Aberdeen, the needle poking started again. There wasn't a place at my middle area that I think hadn't been touched by a needle. For twelve days, I was injected twice a day. The first shot was bearable but the second shot was something I always dread.

As usual, only five eggs were sucessfully retrieved, which this time around we agreed to implant two embryos instead of just one to increase our chance of success. Thank God three embryos grew healthily which two were implanted in me and the last one was frozen.

I'm sure people would be so tired to read my IVF journal by how long it's been dragging yet there's nothing coming out of it. But sit tight, because this time around we got a mighty positive!

When we went for our first ultrasound, both were thriving. We're having a set of fraternal twins! From a continuous zero we suddenly have two in the oven.

Of course, the good news was short lived. We could detect only one heartbeat when we went for our third ultrasound, just when the first trimester was ending. Nevertheless, we were happy with the one that's thriving.

I was promoted to Manager in just four years, while heavily pregnant with our baby girl; I was definitely on top of the world. Everything was great.

We had our final check up on the 39th week of pregnancy and agreed to check in right on the due date to get the baby out. I was definitely happy to be pregnant but damn, my mood swing was so bad with the constant back pain and swollen feet, I really feel sorry for my husband because he's the unfortunate punching bag.

I never knew about stillbirth until the obgyn told us she couldn't hear the heartbeat of our baby on the day I'm supposed to be induced, just hours before it began.

If you think that's devastating, try spending five hours in active labor to push out your dead baby out of your vagina.

Try going home to the completely decorated, full-of-baby-items nursery.

Try receiving texts from your family and coworkers, congratulating you for the birth of your baby.

It hurts. It hurts so bad that I couldn't say anything to my husband. And he too, was devastated. He tried his best to take care of me postpartum but I couldn't help it. I'd rather spend time alone than talk to anyone, or be with anyone.

It hurts too bad that after three months, I was contemplating to walk away from everything. My job, my marriage, my home, my life, I just couldn't. All of those were killing me slowly and I owed it to myself to just let go, to finally find a peace after battling with this negative emotions. Even if it meant leaving everything behind.

But I love Owen so much I didn't know what to do with it. I realised we had grown apart ever since the birth. He took care of me the best he could but he wasn't the playful man I married five years ago. He hardly joked around or said more than needed to. We didn't even have sex anymore, just minding our own business despite sharing the same space. The bed suddenly felt too big.

"I love you, Precious."

I knew he had been silently crying day and night but to see his teary eyes was the last thing I wanted to see at that moment, when we're finally sitting down to have the much needed conversation.

"Maybe it's best if we take some time apart."

My heart churned at his suggestion but I knew that's what we needed. Take some time apart to clear our head, perhaps we can start again after we've straighten ourselves.

The next day we both left the house as I flied to Stockholm to be with Kimmy while he's off to Chicago. We chose not to communicate at all during this cool off period to give the absolute space to each other.

A months later, he sent me the divorce papers which I reluctantly signed and returned it back to him.

Because relationship is like glass, it's better to leave it broken than to hurt yourself putting it back together. Sometimes you have to accept that certain things will never go back to how they used to be.

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