Rediscovering My Roots After Divorce

On the day of my divorce, my ex-mother-in-law updates her social media with a photo. It's my husband's mistress' ultrasound—she's pregnant.

Their friends and family congratulate her. Meanwhile, I share a premarital medical report. It belongs to her son, Owen Wade. It also clearly indicates he has congenital necrospermia.

There's no way I'll want a man who can't have kids!

I met Owen Wade in college, and we started dating after graduation.

My paycheck after graduation was pretty slim. I was barely getting by, and the best I could afford was renting a place in a half-finished building.

Owen and I worked at the same company, and he'd drive me home after work every day. He'd always get me a little something on holidays, and even if he couldn't swing that, he'd at least take me out for tacos.

I grew up without parents, money, or connections—just Grandma to lean on. People talked behind me when I was a kid, saying I was just some stray kid Grandma took in, but I never believed them.

After she passed, I lost the only family I had. Since then, I'd longed for a place I could call home.

Since I didn't get much love or attention growing up, I started leaning on Owen more and more. When we were dating, he was sweet, thoughtful, and always careful with my feelings.

He never judged my family or where I came from. I was young then and mistook that basic kindness for love. When he proposed, he promised me we'd have a happy future, and I was thrilled to marry him.

But after we got engaged, his relatives started whispering in his mother, Mildred Manning's ear. They called me a gold digger trying to marry up and a nobody with a sketchy past.

Some even hinted I might have some "infectious illness" and pushed for me to get a checkup before the wedding.

I sighed, deciding to take it all in silence for Owen's sake.

When the results came in, I found out he had congenital necrospermia, which meant he couldn't father children, and there was no cure.

I cherished our relationship and loved him deeply, so I kept it a secret to spare his feelings. I wanted us to have a good life together.

Back then, I believed that as long as we loved each other, it didn't matter if we couldn't have kids. If we really wanted a family, we could always adopt.

But while I thought that way, others didn't.

After Owen and I married, Mildred kept making things tough for me. She started by pressuring me to quit my job, have kids, and be a housewife.

I pushed back at first, but then Owen got on board, asking me to do the same. Besides, he started treating me even better and promised he'd bring in the money while I just kicked back at home.

I bought into all his sweet talk, quit my job, and became a housewife. I never expected that after getting married, I'd be hit with an endless cycle of frustration and heartache.

Every morning, I woke up early to make breakfast. After everyone had eaten, I would do the laundry, mop the floors, and wash the dishes.

One morning, just as I finished cleaning and heading to my room, Mildred threw a basin of underwear at me. It wasn't the first time she expected me to wash her intimates.

I sighed and said, "Underwear is personal, Mildred. You really should be washing that yourself."

She was texting someone on WhatsApp to come over for a card game. She looked up and glared at me. "If I tell you to wash it, just do it. Why are you making such a big deal?"

I refused. I dumped the basin in the bathroom and went back to my room to change the sheets.

Mildred started yelling from the living room, "Oh, you think you're something now? Do you think Owen married you so he could treat you like a queen? Go and take a good look in the mirror! You actually think you're a swan, huh? Get out now and wash those, or I'll call Owen back to put you in your place!"

I couldn't take it anymore. "I married into your family, Mildred, but I'm not your maid. I didn't take a single cent from your family when I married Owen. If you want a maid, why don't you hire one?"

I stormed off to my room and slammed the door behind me. Then, I threw myself on the bed and cried into the sheets.

Mildred wasted no time playing the victim. She called Owen, sobbing as she spun the story in her favor.

When Owen came home, he yanked me off the bed. "Paige, apologize to Mom!"

He always took her side—every single time we argued.

"Why should I apologize? What did I do wrong? She's the one picking on me, and you're still telling me to apologize?" I wiped my tears and turned my back on him.