After Knowing I Was Infertile, My Husband Dumped Me

After a while of flirting, Winston reluctantly returned to the company—worried I might notice something.

But Kiara didn’t leave immediately. She stood in the shadows, right in the direction where I was hiding, a smug smile curling on her lips.

She dangled the car keys in her hand and strutted toward me, the sharp click of her heels growing louder until she finally stopped right in front of me.

“Well, well. I thought it was you. I should’ve known—you’ve always had a thing for eavesdropping, haven’t you, sister?”

I trembled with rage, my eyes burning red. If it weren’t for the post-miscarriage complications that left my legs spasming, I would’ve stood up and slapped her right across the face.

“You really are shameless, Kiara. Just like your homewrecker mother! Your mom stole my dad, and now you're stealing my husband? You even have the nerve to covet my company? Have you no shame at all?!”

She laughed, covering her mouth as if I’d just told her a joke.

“Bianca, you really need to understand something. Before he even knew you, Winston only had eyes for me. And my mother? She was your father’s first love. You and your mom were just placeholders. If you want someone to blame, blame yourselves for being boring—no charm, no spark. Can’t even keep your men.”

“Now that you’ve given up all your shares, whether I work here or not is entirely up to Winston.”

“You—don’t get cocky, Kiara. One day, I’ll drive you and your mother out of my house,” I intoned coldly.

She giggled again, mocking me without restraint.

“Oh no, I’m terrified. Really, Sis? Look at you now. A half-paralyzed, childless housewife. Even if you overheard Winston talking about leaving you, what can you do? Nothing.”

She leaned down, eyes gleaming with malice. “If you beg me a little—maybe bark like a dog or something—I might convince him not to kick you out just yet.”

My fingernails dug into my palm so hard they nearly drew blood. My lips pressed into a trembling, white line. My head throbbed from the wave of fury.

I tried to leave, forcing my wheelchair to turn around, but she blocked my path.

Worse—she placed one stiletto-clad foot right on my wheelchair pedal.

“Why so eager to go? Oh, and don’t forget—Dad’s birthday is tomorrow. You better show up. Don’t embarrass the family in front of the relatives.”

And with that, she drove off—in the car I bought for Winston.

Later that night, Winston called. I simply told him I was tired and had gone home early. He didn’t push for more.

On the drive back, I made another call to Denver, asking him to help me investigate the auction records for a piece of land in the outskirts from last year.

—

The next morning, Winston was already waiting in the living room.

Today was my father’s birthday.

We’d been distant ever since my mother’s death—he had always blamed me, even though I was just a child. I rarely visited, unless there was a serious reason.

I didn’t prepare any gift.

When I arrived downstairs dressed and ready, Kiara held out a wrapped box to me.

“Sis, I know you and Dad have your differences. I picked out a gift for you to give him. He’ll love it.”

I glanced at the porcelain tea set inside but didn’t take it. My voice was cold. “Thanks, but no. You can give it to him yourself.”

Winston’s expression darkened. He snatched the gift box from her and scolded me.

“She’s trying to help. As your sister, she’s doing more than you are. Showing up without a gift is already rude—and now you’re being cold too? Can’t you act a little more mature?”

Without waiting for my response, he took Kiara by the arm and walked out.

I no longer needed the wheelchair, though I still had to rely on a cane to walk.

By the time I got downstairs, Kiara had already claimed the front passenger seat—her usual move. I ignored her provocative glances. I was used to this.

When we arrived at the old family estate, most of the relatives and guests were already there.

Winston, the perfect gentleman, supported my arm as we walked inside. Kiara, holding two gifts, pranced ahead like a princess.

She practically skipped to my father’s side, smiling sweetly.

“Dad! These are from me and Sis. We hope you like them!”

A flicker of surprise crossed my father’s face when he heard that one of the gifts was from me.

In front of everyone, he began to unwrap the presents.

He opened the painting Kiara had bid for at an auction and immediately lit up with joy, complimenting her over and over.

Then he turned to the tea set—the one I had supposedly gifted—and barely spared it a glance. Though he pretended to like it, he quickly set it aside.

“I told you, Kiara is such a thoughtful child,” my uncle chimed in. “She went out of her way to buy that painting just for your birthday. That’s real filial piety.”

The other relatives nodded in agreement, throwing in comments like:

“Bianca is starting to mature too, thank goodness. Sure, her mother passed young and no one taught her, but even so, she should know better. Honestly, she’s always been guarded with us—won’t even let us near her company. What’s she so afraid of?”

I smiled faintly but said nothing.

Let them talk.

Let them all believe what they want.

Because very soon, the truth was going to tear their fantasy apart—piece by piece.