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…

Just then, his phone suddenly rang. On the screen, one word flashed: [Sweetheart].

Davies glanced at it, his expression shifting in an instant. He reached for the phone, clearly intending to hang up.

But I was faster. I snatched it from his hand, pressed the answer, and put it on speaker.

“Davies!”

A delicate woman’s voice instantly came through the phone, carrying a coquettish tone as she said, “Why did you take so long to pick it up? Was that old, childless hag at home pestering you again? Don’t bother with her. Come on, come keep me and the baby company. The baby misses Daddy…”

That voice… I knew it.

It belonged to Tanisha Totter, the new intern at his company.

Just last week, during the company dinner, she clinked glasses with Davies again and again, her eyes shining with admiration, her words sticky-sweet.

On the left, “President Osment, you’re amazing.”

On the right, “Deanna, you’re so lucky.”

Davies laughed at the time, telling me, “The young woman is quite sensible.”

So this was what he meant by “sensible”?

His face changed drastically now. He lunged toward me, trying to grab the phone.

“Deanna! Give me the phone!”

I dodged his hand and spoke coldly into the receiver.

“Tanisha?”

On the other end, the woman clearly hadn’t expected me. Startled, she shrieked, then hurriedly hung up.

The bedroom fell into a deathly silence.

Davies’s face darkened to an ugly shade. His eyes darted everywhere but at me.

I stared at him, and at that moment, something inside me went completely cold.

“Tanisha?” I repeated the name, tasting the bitter irony on my tongue.

“Davies, you’re something else. Sleeping with your own intern? Even rabbits don’t eat the grass by their burrow. You can’t even measure up to a rabbit, can you?”

“Shut up!”

He snapped, his voice thick with rage and shame. He pointed at me, spitting harsh words.

“Tanisha is a thousand times better than you! She’s young, she’s beautiful, and most importantly, she can give me a son! You? What do you do besides nagging and doubting me all the time?”

His breath came in heavy pants, as if he had been waiting years to vomit out all this resentment.

“I’ll tell you the truth, Deanna. The son in Tanisha’s belly—I will acknowledge him. If you know what’s good for you, keep your mouth shut, and you can still be my wife. But if you don’t…”

He sneered, letting the threat hang unfinished, the meaning clear as day.

I drew in a steadying breath and let it out slowly.

“Then, let’s divorce, Davies.”

He froze, stunned by how calm and decisive I sounded.

His eyes flickered with disbelief as he studied me.

“Divorce? Deanna, do you really dare? Without me, how will you survive? What can your family give you? Don’t forget—your father’s pathetic little factory is still relying on my company for business!”

I closed my eyes for a moment.

It was true. My father’s small factory had survived these past years thanks to contracts with Davies’s company.

That had been one of the reasons I swallowed my pride and endured.

But I no longer intended to endure.

“That’s my problem,” I replied evenly. “Tomorrow, I’ll have my lawyer send over the divorce papers.”

For a long moment, he just stared at me. Then, suddenly, he laughed—a laugh dripping with mockery and contempt.

“Well, well. You’ve grown a backbone, haven’t you? Fine, let’s divorce! Tanisha’s about to give birth anyway. Perfect timing for me to bring her and my son home!”

With that, he grabbed his coat and strode to the door.

At the threshold, he paused and turned back.

“Oh, right, I remember—this divorce is your idea, not mine. When it comes to dividing property, you’d better not get greedy. If you dare ask for too much, don’t blame me for showing no mercy. Oh, and one more thing—about your infertility. I see no reason to keep covering that up for you anymore.”

With that, he slammed the door so hard the walls shook.

I stood frozen, listening to the sound of his car engine start, then fade into the distance.

Only then did the tears spill over uncontrollably.

Not because I couldn’t bear to lose Davies—this pathetic excuse of a man. But because of the three years of love I had wasted on him. Because of how blind I had once been.

I cried until I couldn’t anymore. Then, wiping my face dry, I stood up.

From the bottom drawer of my nightstand, I pulled out the medical report I had hidden away for a long time.

My eyes fell on the words stamped clearly across the page.

[All results normal]

A faint, cold smile tugged at my lips.

“Davies,” I whispered, “your surprise is coming soon.”

Davies moved even faster than I had imagined.

The next morning, before I was even out of bed, my mother’s call came through.

“Deanna! What on earth is going on with you? Davies says you can’t have children? And now you’re talking about divorce? Have you lost your mind?”

Clutching the phone, my throat felt dry.

“Mom, it’s not what you think…”

“What do you mean ‘not what I think’? Then what is it?!” my mother snapped before I could explain, her voice rising into a furious roar.

“Where are you ever going to find a man as good as Davies? So you can’t have children? So, what?! Medicine is so advanced now. Can’t you just do IVF? Why are you being so unreasonable? Hurry up and apologize to Davies! Beg him not to divorce you!”

Listening to her scolding, my heart turned cold.

The first thing my own mother worried about wasn’t whether I was hurt or humiliated. She was worried about losing Davies, the source of her funds.

“Mom, Davies cheated. He got another woman pregnant.”

I tried to explain, but she cut me off instantly.

“So what?”

Her tone was firm, self-righteous even.

“Men fool around outside all the time! As long as he still acknowledges you as his wife and brings the money home, that’s what matters! What are you making such a fuss for? Stop it right now and apologize to him!”

At that, I hung up the phone and immediately blocked her number.

Not even two minutes later, my father called.

His voice was heavy, weighed down with frustration.

“Deanna, Davies just called. He said he’s terminating all cooperation with our factory. Do you realize what that means? Dozens of workers are waiting to put food on the table! Can’t you… Can’t you just endure this a little longer?”

Hearing my father’s voice almost pleading, my chest tightened, as though a giant hand had gripped my heart and refused to let go.

“I’m sorry, Dad.” I closed my eyes, my voice hoarse. “This time, I really can’t endure it.”

He stayed silent for a long time before letting out a weary sigh and hanging up.

Before I could recover, Messenger began to buzz nonstop with notifications.

Several wealthy wives I used to be on friendly terms with reached out, their messages dripping with false concern.

[Deanna, I heard you and President Osment are divorcing? Is it true?]

[Oh, not being able to conceive isn’t such a big deal these days. You can always do IVF.]

[Exactly! Why go as far as divorce? President Osment is such a good man. You should cherish him.]

One even “kindly” recommended an old traditional medicine doctor who specialized in infertility.

My hands trembled with rage as I scrolled through their messages.

So this was Davies’s doing. He couldn’t wait to shout it from the rooftops that I was infertile.

I didn’t bother replying. I muted every single one of them.

But the peace didn’t last. Soon, the doorbell began to ring.

Peering through the peephole, I saw Tanisha.

She was dressed in a designer maternity dress, her belly already slightly showing. One hand supported her waist, the other carried a luxury shopping bag, and her face was full of pride.

I hadn’t intended to open the door, but she kept pressing the bell relentlessly, loud enough that neighbors began peeking out curiously.

With a sharp pull, I opened the door.

Tanisha flinched in surprise but quickly lifted her chin again.

She thrust the bag toward me with a patronizing smile.

“Deanna, I heard you’re divorcing Davies? Don’t be too upset. After all, since you can’t have children. It’s only natural for him to want one. This little gift is just a bit of compensation from the two of us.”

I stared at her gloating face and spat out just two words.

“Get out.”

Her expression faltered, but then she seemed to remember something and forced a laugh.

Rubbing her belly deliberately, she said, “Oh, don’t be angry, Deanna. Anger is bad for your health. Not that… well, not that you really have anything left to protect.”

She laughed, then, with feigned innocence, she added, “By the way, Davies said this house will be for me and the baby from now on. When are you planning to move out? Pregnant women need a quiet environment for nurturing life, you know.”

I watched her little performance with impatience, my tone flat.

“Done talking? If you’re done, get out. Don’t dirty my floor.”

Her smile froze, then cracked into fury. She shouted, “Deanna! Who do you think you are?! You’re nothing but a barren hen sitting on a nest without laying eggs! Davies never loved you! Be smart and get lost already!”

“Oh?” I arched my brow. “So he doesn’t love me, but instead loves you—the office bicycle? Didn’t you climb into several executives’ beds before your probation was even over? Does Davies know the baby isn’t his?”