After He Destroyed Me, I Became His Rival's Queen

At my mother's funeral, Tristram Stephens strolled in late with his secretary on his arm. He handed me a divorce agreement.

“You know how the Stephens family works. Only children born in wedlock get registered on the family records.”

“Lois is carrying my child. I can't let that kid grow up without a father.”

Lois Swanson clung to his side in a red dress, her smile dripping with false sweetness：

“Claudia Simmons, you love him so much. Surely you wouldn't want him to go his whole life without an heir?”

Tristram reached over and stroked my hair：

“Don't worry. It's just a formality.”

“Once Lois and I get the marriage certificate and the baby's registered under the Stephens name,”

“I'll divorce her and remarry you.”

“You'll still be Mrs. Stephens when it's all over.”

The funeral dirge swelled, and my arm, still wearing the mourning band, trembled violently.

Five years of marriage. Tristram had told me he didn't want children, and he'd made me terminate two pregnancies.

During the second procedure, something went wrong. They removed my uterus. I would never be a mother……

And now he stood here telling me he couldn't let another woman's child grow up without a father.

I watched Lois thrust her belly forward in a deliberate taunt, and my fingers curled tight.

In my mind, a divorce was a divorce. There was no such thing as a fake one.

……

When he saw me frozen in place, Tristram reached out and wiped the tears from my face：

“Motherhood without the pain. Aren't you happy?”

I wrenched his hand away and stared at him, my voice cold：

“If we're getting divorced, there's no need to remarry.”

Something flickered across Tristram's face, but it vanished behind that trademark smile of his. He gripped my chin and tilted it upward, one brow arched：

“A barren waste of a woman. Who else would ever want you besides me?”

The words hit me like a fist to the chest. The air around me seemed to solidify.

Then he turned and pointed at my mother's memorial portrait：

“Mom would be thrilled. After all, the one thing she wanted most was to see us have a child.”

“Now she can rest in peace.”

His words were a blade, carving me apart one slow cut at a time.

While she was alive, my mother had always dreamed of becoming a grandmother.

The first time I got pregnant, I rushed to tell her, but Tristram stopped me.

He stroked my hair, his voice doting：

“Claudia, pregnancy is so hard on the body. I can't stand to see you suffer. And you know what my childhood was like. I'm not ready to be a father yet. Let's not keep this one.”

“Give it a few more years. Once we've had enough time just the two of us, it won't be too late.”

I believed him. I never told my mother I was pregnant. I had the abortion in secret.

Two years later, I was pregnant again.

The moment I held the test results, I called Tristram, overjoyed. He pulled out that same gentle tone：

“Claudia, my career is really taking off right now. A baby would hold me back.”

“We're still young. We have plenty of time. Just go get it taken care of, okay?”

I was crushed, but I didn't want to be a burden to him. So I agreed.

That was the procedure that went wrong. The doctor made an error, and I hemorrhaged.

The only way to save my life was to remove my uterus entirely.

I was unconscious for three days. Tristram stayed at the hospital the entire time, never sleeping, never leaving my side.

When I finally opened my eyes, he cradled my hand in his, tears brimming：

“Claudia, I promise you. For the rest of our lives, I'll be right here beside you. I will never leave.”

Those vows still echoed in my ears. And yet here he was, with another woman carrying his child.

Looking back, I was the punchline of my own story, falling for his honeyed lies again and again.