My Infertile Husband’s Mistress Is Having His Baby

We had been married for three years. In that time, Davies Osment had always been attentive and gentle in every way—except in bed, where he remained restrained and distant.

But one past midnight, I received a few messages he accidentally sent and then immediately unsent.

[Baby, my wife won’t be home tomorrow. Come over. Don’t forget the new lace set.]

[Don’t worry, I’ll divorce her soon. The family needs an heir after all. It’s not my fault she can’t bear children.]

The words glared back at me from the screen. I thought of his usual soft eyes, his practiced tenderness, and bile rose in my throat.

Behind me, he was oblivious. His arms circled my waist, his lips brushing my hair.

In that soothing tone of his, he murmured, “Go to sleep, darling. Don’t dwell on what my parents said at dinner earlier.”

He had no idea—the medical report I’d hidden away declared me perfectly healthy.

The one who couldn’t have children… was him.

…

I clenched my fist tightly, nails digging into my palm.

For three years I had carried this burden for him—shouldering the blame, letting his pride stay intact.

For three years I endured the ridicule and veiled insults from his parents.

I thought he appreciated me. I thought he felt sorry for me.

And yet…

He was calling someone else “baby.” He was asking another woman to wear lace. He was telling her I was barren.

I shoved his arm away and sat up, my voice cold.

“Davies, we need to talk.”

He blinked, surprised, and pushed himself up as well. With a click, he turned on the bedside lamp.

“What is it, darling? Bad dream?”

His brows knitted in concern as he reached for my cheek.

I turned my head sharply, avoiding his hand, and thrust my phone in front of him.

“What did you just unsend?”

I stared into his eyes as I confronted him.

His expression froze just for a split second, but I saw it. Panic flickered across his eyes, then disappeared under a practiced calm.

“Nothing,” he said casually. “Just sent the wrong message about work. Didn’t want to wake you, so I unsent it.”

He even chuckled, as though to soften it. “What’s the matter? Did I scare you?”

I stared at him.

He was still pretending. He was still lying.

“Work?”

My pulse hammered, my hands trembling with fury.

“Does your work require you to call someone ‘baby’? To set a meeting at ‘our place’? To ask her to wear lace?”

His smile vanished. His brows knit deeper, feigning confusion.

“Deanna, what nonsense are you talking about? Baby? Lace? You must have misread it.”

“I saw it—every word!”

My voice rose, unsteady with rage. I locked eyes with him.

“Before you unsent the messages, I saw them, Davies. Tell me the truth. Are you seeing someone else?”

The bedroom instantly fell into terrifying silence.

He studied me for several seconds, and the gentle husband façade drained from his face.

I recognized that look—the one he reserved for subordinates when he was displeased.

I never imagined he would one day direct it at me.

“Deanna,” he said flatly, impatience edging his tone, “it’s midnight. Instead of sleeping, you pick a fight with me for no reason?”

I stared at him in disbelief.

I was being unreasonable to him?

A laugh burst out of me from the rage.

“I’m unreasonable? Davies, you cheated! You booked a hotel with another woman! I caught you red-handed, and you still dare to deny it?”

“Where’s the proof?” He let out a mocking chuckle, spreading his hands.

“You say you saw it, but where’s the evidence? The message is gone. What are you accusing me with? Just your mouth?”

He dismissed me with a wave. “Enough. Go to sleep. I’ll just forget this ever happened.”

His self-righteous response made me shake all over with anger. “You coward. You cheat and can’t even own up to it? Are you even a man, Davies?”

“I’m not a man?”

He shot to his feet, towering over me, his eyes cold.

“Deanna, you should know better than anyone if I’m a man. If it weren’t for you—if you weren’t barren—would I need to look elsewhere?”

I froze, breath catching. For a moment I thought I had misheard.

“What… What did you just say?”

“I said it!”

He snapped, his volume exploding, his face stripped of any gentleness. Only disgust remained, unmasked and cruel.

“If it weren’t for you! If you could give me a child! My parents nag every day, and what am I supposed to do? I was forced into this, alright?!”

It felt like a bucket of ice water had been dumped over me, soaking me to the bone.

He… was forced?

So in his mind, his affairs, his lies—they were my fault. Because I “couldn’t have children”?

“Davies…” My voice trembled. “Do you have any conscience left? For three years, how have I treated you? How much humiliation have I endured for you? And this is how you treat me?”

“You treated me well? You endured humiliation?”

He laughed as if he had heard the biggest joke in the world. And then he sneered.

“Don’t play the victim, Deanna. You’re nothing but a hen that can’t lay eggs! If I hadn’t taken pity and married you, if I hadn’t provided for you, do you think you’d be living the lavish life you’re enjoying now?

“No, you’d be rotting in some forgotten corner! You never once thanked me, and now you dare question me?”

I looked at his self-righteous face, and my heart ached like it was being torn apart.

“So,” I whispered, taking a deep breath and blinking back tears, “you’re admitting it? You’re admitting there’s someone else?”

He sneered, no longer bothering to hide.

“And what if there is? Let me tell you—she’s pregnant. With my child. My son. He’ll be born in just a few months. What? Do you have a problem with that?”

Pregnant? His son?

My ears rang. I nearly collapsed under the weight of his words.

But… how? Isn’t he infertile? How could this be…

Could it be… that my medical report was wrong?

Or was it… him…