After Becoming Infertile, Neither My Son Nor My Husband Wanted Me Anymore

When the doctor told me I might never be able to have children again, Julian’s first reaction was pure agony: “How could this happen to Scarlett? She wants a child so badly!”

Scarlett. She was the one he’d always yearned for, the unattainable ideal.

Even my five-year-old son ran up to me, his voice sharp with accusation: “Mommy, did you do this on purpose? Daddy says if Aunt Scarlett could have a baby, she’d be way better than you!”

A cold realization hit me. In this house, my worth, even as a potential mother, couldn’t measure up to the ghost of his past, the shadow of a woman who wasn’t even here.

I was done.

I left a divorce agreement and vanished from their lives.

I gripped the thin, yet ton-heavy diagnosis – “Unlikely to conceive again.” My hands shook so violently I could barely hold the paper. The sterile white of the hospital corridor blurred, the world spun, leaving only those crushing words, like ice picks tearing through my heart.

Why me?

Fighting back the torrent of tears, I floated home like a phantom.

He glanced up as I walked in, casually asking, “How was the check-up? What did the doctor say?” His tone was light, dismissive.

My movements froze. I took a deep, shuddering breath, walked up to him, my voice trembling uncontrollably. “Julian, the doctor said… I might… I might not be able to get pregnant again.”

His smile shattered, freezing on his face. After a few seconds of stunned silence, his brows furrowed, tightening into a worried knot.

Then, almost a reflex, the words burst out, a bombshell that rocked my world: “How can that be? What about Scarlett? She wants a child so badly…”

Scarlett.

Scarlett Davies.

The woman he’d held in his heart for years, the unattainable ideal he always craved.

My blood seemed to turn to ice, chilling me from head to toe. My fingertips quivered uncontrollably.

I stared at the man before me, disbelief clawing at my throat.

“…What did you say?” My voice was raspy, like sandpaper, every word a struggle to force out.

Julian seemed to realize he’d spoken out of turn, but there wasn’t a trace of apology in his eyes. He just turned away, his face etched with annoyance, avoiding my piercing gaze.

He tried to backtrack, his voice clipped and stiff: “That’s not what I meant… It’s just… Ugh, this is so sudden, I…”

Here I was, just delivered the devastating news that my hope for more children was almost gone, my body and soul in tatters, desperate for comfort and support.

And his first reaction wasn’t to worry about my health, or to share my pain and despair.

No, it was for Scarlett Davies, a woman who had absolutely no place in our family – she wanted a child?

So, my inability to conceive again, was first and foremost a betrayal to his unattainable ideal?

My mouth opened, but no sound came out.

The man before me, so familiar yet utterly a stranger, sent a chill so profound it settled deep in my bones, alongside an absurd, cutting irony.

These past five years, a colossal, cruel joke.

I watched him pace irritably in the living room, then walk onto the balcony, pulling out his phone to make a call.

His voice was low, but I clearly caught a few phrases: “…Don’t even ask. My wife’s body isn’t cooperating… Yeah, it is… Ugh, such a hassle…”

My body isn’t cooperating?