After Knowing I Was Infertile, My Husband Dumped Me

“Forge a medical report saying I’m infertile. I don’t want a single share of the company. Let him have it—I just want a swift divorce.”

There was a three-second silence on the other end of the line before the person finally agreed.

For five years, I was married to Winston Flemming. Everyone believed he loved me deeply.

But just a month ago, everything shattered.

I had just found out I was pregnant when I got caught in a typhoon while on a business trip. The car crash that followed was brutal.

With a branch piercing through my lower leg and the pain blinding, I called Winston again and again. But he didn’t pick up once.

Eventually, I had to call for an ambulance myself. Barely conscious, I was rushed to the hospital.

I lost the baby. My legs were severely damaged, and nearly paralyzed.

And where was my husband?

He was busy helping my half-sister, Kiara to move into our home.

When Winston finally arrived at the hospital, he put on an act—gently comforting me, his face full of feigned worry. But moments later, I saw him flirting with my sister in the hallway.

At that instant, five years of love felt like a cruel joke. I thought I had found true love. But it turns out, it was all a lie.

Next month, his parents were due to return. They had been eagerly anticipating a grandchild—now there was none.

A forged infertility diagnosis was the only way to ensure I could walk away for good.

...

“Seriously? It's just a baby—was it worth spending two whole hours making soup? Even I never got that treatment.”

I rolled into the house in my wheelchair. The front door was wide open. The scent of food wafted through the air, mingled with the sound of Winston and Kiara laughing and playing around.

“Keep your voice down! What if your sister hears you? Just keep up the act for now. Once I get full control of the company, you’ll be Mrs. Flemming.”

Outside the elevator, I tightened my grip on the forged medical report and made a deliberate noise to announce my presence.

Winston appeared at the door in a bathrobe, looking flustered as he tugged at the collar.

He shot me an annoyed glance and snapped, “You should’ve called if you were coming back. If it was inconvenient, I could’ve picked you up.”

He pushed me into the living room, where Kiara, also in a bathrobe, brought out a steaming bowl of chicken soup from the kitchen.

Their outfits left little to the imagination. I could guess what had been going on in my absence.

I crushed the paper in my hand, warping it beyond recognition. The concern on Winston’s face vanished the moment I stepped inside.

He arranged the dishes on the table, then casually disappeared into the bedroom to change.

“Kia and I are heading to the airport to pick up my parents. You go ahead and eat.”

“Wait.”

I pulled out two documents from my bag—a share transfer agreement and a divorce contract.

Winston froze in place, glaring at me with rising irritation.

“Bianca, what is this supposed to mean? You want a divorce?”

I smiled calmly and pulled out a pen.

“Since the miscarriage, I’ve been nearly paralyzed. I can’t keep up with the company anymore. From now on, I’ll be relying on you.”

Sighing, I continued, “You know how heavy the tax is on share transfers. A fake divorce would make everything easier to handle.”

He hesitated for a moment, then picked up the agreement. His mood visibly improved as he confirmed that I was transferring all of my shares to him.

His tone even softened.

“I know you’re doing this for my sake. Here, try this lotus seed and white fungus soup I made. It’s good for recovery after a miscarriage.”

He held the spoon out to me. I didn’t touch it.

He must have forgotten—I hate lotus seed and white fungus soup.

Just then, Kiara reappeared, fully dressed, and clung sweetly to his arm.

“Hurry up, your parents will be arriving any minute!”

Flustered by her urging, Winston set the spoon back in the bowl. But he spilled the soup all over my legs in the process.

Startled, he bent down, trying to clean it up, but Kiara’s nagging made him clumsy.

“It’s not too hot. I’ll clean it myself. Just sign the papers and go,” I said flatly.

He gave me a brief, uncertain look, then signed the documents and left with her without another word.

I went to the bathroom to clean myself up. As I scrubbed at the sticky mess on my legs, tears finally rolled down my cheeks.

This villa was once our dream home. Now, my husband shamelessly lived here with my half-sister.

If I hadn’t caught them at the hospital a month ago, I might still be in the dark—right up until the company I built with my own hands was stolen from me completely.

Fortunately, it wasn’t too late.

The business I built from scratch would never fall into the hands of the woman who killed my mother—or her child. And certainly not into the hands of a man like Winston.

I wheeled myself back into the bedroom and saw the framed photo on the nightstand—me, my sister, and Winston at the summit of Everest.

I tore it to pieces without hesitation.

Then, I made a call to Denver.

“The divorce agreement is signed. Once the one-month cooling-off period ends, I’ll come find you in San Francisco.”