He asked me to get pregnant for Bai Yueguang, so I divorced him directly

I was born with a curse: a barren womb.

For three years, I endured the grueling cycle of IVF. Finally, on the twelfth attempt, my prayers were answered.

I was pregnant.

Elated, I rushed to share the news with Walter Dickerson. But as I approached the door to the private room, my feet stopped moving.

Inside, he was laughing with his friends.

"Damn, Walter. Swapping the eggs? That's ruthless, even for you." One of his buddies guffawed. "If your wife finds out she went through hell just to carry another woman's child, she'll snap, won't she?"

Walter didn't answer. The silence stretched, thick and deliberate, before his deep, indifferent voice drifted through the crack in the door.

"If she hadn't used underhanded tricks to force Charlotte out back then, Charlotte wouldn't have left me. Jessica should feel honored to carry a child made from my and Charlotte's DNA."

The blood drained from my face.

Cold seeped into my bones, spreading through my chest like ice water.

The husband I loved with every fiber of my being saw me as nothing more than an incubator for *The One That Got Away*.

My hands wouldn't stop shaking. Numbly, I pulled out my phone. I scheduled an abortion. Booked a one-way plane ticket for three days later.

If he wanted the past so badly, I would give it to him.

I would disappear.

1.

"Since you want a child so badly, why not just let Charlotte have one?" someone asked.

At the mention of Charlotte Matthews, Walter's voice softened. A rare tenderness crept into his toneone I had never heard directed at me. "Charlotte's health is fragile. How could I let her suffer through childbirth? Once the baby is born, I'll compensate Jessica properly."

His voice dropped, turning sharp and commanding. "Not a word of this reaches Jessica. If she finds out, don't blame me for what happens next."

An invisible vise crushed my chest. Air wouldn't come.

*Compensate?*

His casual dismissal wiped away years of my suffering. I was allergic to the fertility medication; every injection left my skin burning and itching for days. Yet, every time I saw the hope in his eyes, I gritted my teeth and endured it.

I thought we were building a family.

I didn't realize I was just a pawn in his twisted game of love with another woman.

Tears blurred my vision, streaming down my face unchecked.

Inside, the cruelty continued.

"Jessica brought this on herself. Who told her to cling to Walter so shamelessly? If she hadn't meddled, Charlotte and Walter would have reconciled years ago."

"Some people have thick skin. She doesn't even look in the mirror to see if she's worthy. Ugly women always try the hardest. Our bro and Charlotte are the perfect match."

They took turns tearing me apart, mocking my dignity. And through it all, Waltermy husbanddidn't offer a single word of defense.

It was as if he agreed.

Yet only last night, tangled in the sheets, he had whispered in my ear that he loved only me.

"Alright, knock it off. She's been with Walter for years, after all..."

A coquettish, silvery laugh rang out. Charlotte Matthews had been in there the whole time. She sounded like she was defending me, but her tone dripped with condescension.

To them, I was a joke.

I retreated to the hallway. Wiped my face. Steadied my breathing. Then I dialed Walter's number.

He answered on the first ring. "Baby, are you back from the hospital? What are the results?"

Warm. Concerned.

If I hadn't just heard the truth, I would have been played for a fool until the bitter end.

"...It failed again," I lied, my voice hollow.

Walter paused. I could practically hear him forcing a smile. "It's okay. We'll keep trying. Next time, for sure."

"I don't want to do it anymore." I whispered, testing him one last time. "It hurts too much."

"Jessica." He sighed, his tone shifting from coaxing to that familiar, unyielding hardness. "Wife, didn't you say you love me? I just want a child of our own. Can't you do this for me? Just endure it a little longer, okay?"

Silence stretched between us.

The last shard of hope in my heart shattered into dust.

"Okay," I rasped.

I hung up.

Through the door, I heard him scoff. "Useless. Failed again."

His friends immediately clamored to comfort him. Through the crack in the door, I watched as Charlotte boldly settled herself onto Walter's lap.

Someone raised a glass to her, but Walter's hand shot out, intercepting it.

"What is a girl like her doing drinking this stuff?"

He downed the glass in one gulp.

The room erupted in cheers. I turned away, nausea roiling in my gut.

Walter was severely allergic to alcohol.

In the past, whenever we attended social events, I would drink for him until my stomach burned and my head spun, shielding him from every drop. He never once offered to take a sip for himself.

But for her...

He drank it without hesitation.

It turned out his allergy was selective. It only existed when I was the one protecting him.

I stumbled home. My legs gave out as I crossed the threshold, and I slid down the doorframe to the floor, too exhausted to even weep.

My phone buzzed. A text from an unknown number.

*You heard it all, right?*

I didn't know who sent it, nor did I care. I stood up and began to pack.

As I sorted through my belongings, I found a trove of memories. Every gift Walter had ever given meexpensive jewelry, handmade trinketsI had treasured them all. But looking at them now, I couldn't reconcile the man who gave me these with the cold-hearted stranger in that private room.

Tears dripped onto my hands as I tossed them into the trash, one by one.

*Clink.*

A small, exquisite ring rolled across the floor.

My body went rigid.

The engagement ring.

He had bought it while on a business trip abroad. He'd been caught in a robbery and took three knife slashes to the chest to protect it. I remembered him being wheeled into the emergency room, pale and bloodied, clutching this ring.

His last words before the anesthesia took him were, "No matter what happens... I will never leave you."

Now, that memory sliced through my heart like a blade.

Had it all been a lie? Or was his "deep affection" just a mask he wore until Charlotte returned?

In the early hours of the morning, the front door clicked open.

I was feigning sleep when Walter climbed into bed. Reeking of alcohol, he pulled me into his arms, nuzzling my neck.

"Wife... I feel terrible..."

My eyes opened. Angry red rashes bloomed across his arms.

In the past, I would have sprung up to fetch medicine and cool towels, no matter how tired I was.

Today, I just stared at him.

"You drank?" I asked flatly.

"Social engagement. Couldn't be helped." He mumbled, pressing closer. "Wife, give me a kiss. It'll make me feel better."

Bile rose in my throat. I shoved him away.

His expression darkened instantly. "Jessica, what is wrong with you? Your own body is useless, you can't give me a child, and now you're throwing a tantrum? You expect me to coax you?"

He sat up, his eyes cold. "Go ask around. Whose wife is barren and still gets treated like a queen? I've done enough. What more do you want?"

I met his gaze with dead eyes.

He waited for the submission that always came.

It didn't.

He stormed out, slamming the door behind him.

The next day, I went to the clinic.

"This procedure will likely leave you permanently infertile," the doctor warned.

I nodded. "Do it."

Before the surgery, I called Walter. Even then, in my moment of greatest fear, a pathetic part of me wanted to hear his voice.

Twenty-two calls.

He didn't answer a single one.

Disappointment settled over me like a shroud. I put the phone away and walked into the operating room.

When I woke from the anesthesia, my phone was still silent. No messages. No missed calls.

I opened social media. Charlotte had posted a new update.

A photo of her and Walter, surrounded by friends. Their faces were pressed together intimately. Around her neck hung a massive, glittering ruby pendant.

The caption read:

*"Thank you for the best gift. Let's make up for all the years we missed."*

I recognized the necklace immediately. I had seen the box on Walter's desk weeks ago. It was engraved with the words: *One True Love.*

I had foolishly thought it was a surprise for me.

A bitter smile touched my lips. It was never for me.

Nothing was ever for me.

I liked Charlotte's post.

At that exact moment, a notification popped up: *Flight Booking Confirmed.*

My eyes closed. A long exhale escaped my lungs. A profound sense of exhaustion washed over me.

It was almost over.

When I returned home, the house was bright.

My body was weak from the surgery, and I moved slowly. I found Walter in the kitchen, wearing an apron, cooking. Charlotte leaned against the doorframe, watching him with a soft, possessive gaze.

They looked like the perfect domestic couple.

I was the intruder in my own home.

Walter, who claimed he didn't know how to boil water, was cooking for her.

I smiled. There was no warmth in it. It was the smile of someone who finally understood the joke.

I remembered when I was up for a promotion. I was the top sales performer in the company, yet Waltermy bossrejected my application. He claimed he couldn't show favoritism.

But when Charlotte returned to the country with zero experience, she was promoted two levels within a month.

He protected her. He prioritized her.

It was so obvious now.

I coughed lightly. They both turned to look at me.

There was no shame in their eyes. Walter spoke as if nothing were amiss. "We went out to eat, and Charlotte had too much wine. I'm making her some hangover soup."

I didn't respond. I simply turned and walked to the bedroom.

A few minutes later, the door creaked open. Charlotte walked in, closing the distance between us until she was looking down at me.

"You saw the text, didn't you?" She smirked.

So, it was her.

"Whether I saw it or not... does it matter?" I looked up at her.

Dark, unmistakable hickeys marred her neck. She didn't bother to hide them.

"Your husband treats you like garbage." Charlotte sneered. "Are you still going to cling to him shamelessly?"

My gaze remained calm. "I never clung to him. If he had been honest about you two, I would have divorced him in a heartbeat."

Charlotte laughed, a harsh sound. "Liar. If you weren't clinging to him, why does he refuse every time I ask him to divorce you?"

My frown deepened. "He refuses?"

"He loves *me*." She hissed, her face twisting with jealousy. "You must have something on him. That's the only reason he keeps you around."

A flicker of confusion rose in my chest. Walter didn't want a divorce?

That didn't make sense.

Before I could speak, Charlotte suddenly threw herself to the floor.

"Jessica!" She wailed, her voice trembling with fake terror. "I only came to bring you some soup! Why would you push me?"

*Bang.*

The door flew open. Walter stood there, his face thunderous.

In a split second, I understood Charlotte's game.

"Walter, I"

He didn't let me finish. He strode across the room, grabbed the bowl of steaming soup from the table, and hurled it.

Not at the floor.

At me.

The scalding liquid splashed across my face and chest.

I screamed. The heat seared my skin, the pain instantaneous and blinding.

Walter faltered for a second, his eyes widening as he saw the red burns blooming on my skin. But he quickly steeled himself, his expression turning to ice.

"Jessica Harding," he growled, his voice vibrating with menace. "You'd better pray she's okay. If you hurt her, I will destroy you."

Without another word, he scooped Charlotte Matthews into his arms and strode out.

The room plunged back into silence.

I sat on the edge of the bed, staring at the chaotic mess he'd left behind. Minutes bled into each other. I didn't move. Couldn't. Not until the sharp trill of an alarm clock shattered the quiet.

A glance at the nightstand. A reminder I had set days ago.

*Right.* Today was our third wedding anniversary.

Walter Dickerson had promised me an unforgettable holiday.

A bitter smile touched my lips. *Well. These past few days have been like a fever dream. How could that not count as unforgettable?*

Packing didn't take long. I had very little to my name.

Material things had never mattered much to me. I rarely bought anything for myself. The clothes, bags, and cosmetics cluttering the room were mostly gifts from Walter. Now that I knew the filth behind his generosity, they might as well have been garbage.

Fortunately, I had savings from my working daysenough to relocate and start over with dignity.

After packing, I returned to the bedroom to rest.

---

The next morning, the moment I opened my eyes, Walter was sitting by the bed.

Bloodshot eyes. Thunderous expression.

The second he saw me stir, the interrogation began.

"What are you doing packing your luggage?"

He didn't wait for an answer. "I made a small mistake, and you won't even let me explain? You're getting ready to run away from home?"

A scoff. "You've been with me since you were eighteen. Can you even survive without me? You aren't young anymore, yet you're still acting like a petulant child throwing a tantrum."

The accusations came in a barragesentence after sentenceleaving me no room to breathe, let alone respond.

I looked at the redness rimming his eyes and sighed softly. Just as I hesitated, debating whether to tell him I was leaving for good, he plowed on.

"You know how it is. Charlotte has been spoiled since she was little. Go apologize to her, and we'll treat this whole mess as if it never happened."

A dry, hollow laugh escaped my throat.

So *that* was why he came back.

I couldn't count how many times I had capitulated to Charlotte.

Completed business plans handed over to her because *"Charlotte needs the recognition more than you."* The jade bracelet my mother left me on her deathbedsmashed by Charlotte. And Walter, blind to right and wrong, told me to be the *bigger person.*

During a company retreat, we were in a car accident. Walter had scrambled to protect Charlotte, who had barely scraped her skin.

He hadn't even glanced at me.

I'd sat there with blood streaming down my forehead, invisible.

A wave of dizziness washed over me.

*I've been wronged for so long.*

The love I thought existed was just a defense mechanism. My subconscious had been lying to me, whispering that as long as I didn't acknowledge the truth, I was still loved.

In that case, I really should thank Charlotte. She forced me to see reality. She gave me the courage to take this step.

Seeing my prolonged silence, Walter lost his patience.

He lunged forward. Fingers tangled in my hair. He dragged me toward the mirror.

"Everything you have was given to you by me!" he roared. "You haven't worked for three years. If you leave me, you won't survive a week."

He shoved my face toward my reflection. "If you don't go apologize, I'm cutting off your cards. Let's see how long you last then."

He released me.

Stormed out.

Slammed the door.

I tilted my head, studying my reflection in confusion.

Why did he think I was a canary that couldn't fly?

I hadn't worked for three years because I had dedicated my body and soul to IVF treatments. It had been *his* suggestion. He had sworn that even if I never worked again, he would support me for a lifetime.

Now, he used that sacrifice as a weapon to stab me.

Had he forgotten that when his company was just a startup, its initial reputation was built by methe desperate, tenacious woman who fought tooth and nail for every contract?

Not long after Walter left, my phone buzzed. A message from Charlotte.

I tapped it open.

And froze.

Photos flooded the screen.

Explicit.

Brazen.

Obscene.

The protagonists were unmistakably Walter Dickerson and Charlotte Matthews.

Walter had one ironclad rule in bed: no kissing.

Even if I initiated it, he would push me away. If I persisted, he would stop everything and leave the room, no matter how far things had progressed.

But in these photos?

He and Charlotte were kissing with a desperate, consuming intensity.

I scrolled through the images, my expression blank, and clicked save.

Charlotte was as malicious as she was foolish. I had been worried about finding concrete proof of their affair for the divorce filing, and here she was, delivering it on a silver platter.

---

On the day of my flight, I felt lighter than I had in years.

Just before boarding, a text from Walter popped up on my screen.

*Have you reflected enough? Charlotte is waiting in the hospital for your apology.*

I lowered my gaze. My fingers danced lightly over the keyboard.

*Let's divorce.*