Divorce Me Once, Regret ForeverChapter 1

My husband—who had no idea he was congenitally sterile—made a grand public announcement that some college girl was carrying his child, bought her a mansion, and stayed by her side day and night.

As her due date approached, he came home with divorce papers. One dismissive glance in my direction. "Since you can't have children, stop clinging to the title. I'm giving Rowena and the baby a real family."

I looked at him, expression blank, and picked up a pen.

Then I turned and dialed my phone. "Mom. That man you mentioned. I'll meet him."

……

Three years of marriage, and I'd never gotten pregnant. Every test I took came back normal.

I spent a full year begging Clint James to get checked—begging until I'd ground myself into dust. He finally went, dragging his feet the entire way.

The results came back: congenital azoospermia. He was the one who couldn't conceive. I was fine.

So he wouldn't lose his dignity as a man, so his family would never have reason to humiliate him, I buried the truth without a word.

Deleted every baby photo I'd saved. Left every fertility group I'd joined.