He Denied Me Kids, But Gave His Mistress Twins

My husband had been feeling unwell recently, so I took him to a medicine clinic run by a longtime friend for a physical check-up. After carefully taking both our pulses, my friend advised us not to overwork ourselves and to get more rest. Then, he asked to speak to me alone. He asked if I had reconsidered the decision to continue living as a DINK—double income, no kids.

I told him firmly that I hadn’t changed my mind. I never really wanted children. The main reason was Ethan Quinn’s injury ten years ago. The accident damaged his lower body so severely that he became permanently infertile. Because of that, I even volunteered to have a vasectomy. The scar is still visible.

So when my friend mentioned, almost casually, that Ethan had recently bought dydrogesterone tablets from him, I froze. My heart dropped. No matter how naive I might have been, I knew what dydrogesterone was: a hormone medication used to support pregnancy, often prescribed to prevent miscarriage. It’s definitely an abortion-preserving drug.

At first, I thought maybe my friend had made a mistake. Maybe it wasn’t my husband after all. But then I saw it—on my husband’s social media while he was abroad—a photo of a happy family of four. The kind of photo I would never have imagined existed. It hit me like a bolt of lightning: I had been betrayed.

——

I scrolled through Ethan’s Twitter, unable to stop. Among hundreds of selfies, almost half were with another woman. The account was seven years old. Then, about six years ago, two new “family members” appeared in the album—twins, a boy and a girl, who were now over five years old. Both children resembled the woman in the photos.

The latest family photo was taken only three months ago. I remember him telling me he was going abroad for an important project training. To protect him from gossip or misunderstandings, I had even taken the initiative to undergo surgery to avoid any rumors about my fertility. But now I knew—he had two children abroad all along. And with the woman’s current pregnancy, he is the father of three kids?

I laughed bitterly, feeling like a fool who had been played from the start. Just then, Ethan’s Twitter updated again. A new photo appeared—him gently caressing the woman’s belly, his smile full of joy. The caption read simply: “eternal happiness.”

Anger surged through me. My head throbbed with the pounding of my veins. I grabbed my phone and called him immediately.

“Don’t you know I’m in a meeting? Talk later.” The call was cut off before I could say a word.

Before, he would always ask what was wrong, no matter how busy he was. But that was ten years ago. After graduating from college, I turned down lucrative offers from Fortune 500 companies to marry Ethan. I stood by his side as he grew his family’s fortune from tens of millions to billions. I gave up my career for him.

Now, when I think about it, I wonder: was it worth it?

I called again, my voice trembling with pain.

“Claire Mitchell, are you sick? I told you I’m in a meeting!” he snapped.

“Where are you? The assistant never mentioned a meeting today.”

There was a long silence. Then he answered coldly, “At Hawthorne Tower. If you have any questions, say them all now.”

“I—” I tried to speak, but the call ended again.

Looking at our photo on my phone, I realized this relationship would never be the same again.

When I arrived at Hawthorne Tower, I saw his Ferrari parked outside. The woman from the photos was there, wearing a low-cut dress, delicate and much younger than me. The two of them flirted openly in the car before disappearing inside together.

I slumped against a nearby wall, overwhelmed. I wanted to confront them, to scream, to cry. But I held back. I knew that no matter how much I wanted to lash out, it wouldn’t change anything. The wounds between us weren’t just about this betrayal—they ran deeper, built over years of lies and broken trust.

I realized that if there was any hope left, it would come only through calm, honest conversation. But after everything, could we even find that?