After Learning He Was Infertile, My Husband Regretted Everything

Charlotte woke up to the smell of disinfectant and the dull ache that seemed to have settled into every part of her body.

For a few moments, she simply stared at the hospital ceiling while trying to remember how she had gotten there. Then the memories returned one after another. The fever. The unanswered plea for help. Ryan hanging up. Margaret telling her that dying might finally make her useful.

A nurse noticed she was awake and smiled.

"You're finally back with us. How are you feeling?"

Charlotte tried to sit up, but her muscles protested immediately.

"Like I got hit by a truck."

The nurse laughed softly.

"That's probably because your fever was dangerously high. If your housekeeper hadn't found you when she did, things could have ended very differently."

Charlotte looked down at the blanket covering her legs.

The nurse hesitated before speaking again.

"Did nobody know you were that sick?"

Charlotte knew the woman meant well.

She also knew there was no answer she could give that wouldn't sound pathetic.

"My husband was busy."

The nurse's expression changed, but she didn't push further.

After she left, Charlotte remained alone in the room with her thoughts.

The silence gave her too much time to remember things she usually tried not to think about.

Five years earlier, she had stood beside two graves while rain poured from the sky and turned the cemetery into a field of mud. Her parents had died within the same week, leaving her with a company she didn't know how to run and a future she wasn't ready to face.

Most people had offered condolences and disappeared.

Ryan had stayed.

He had brought her food when she refused to eat.

He had sat beside her when she couldn't sleep.

He had answered every late-night phone call when grief made breathing feel impossible.

Back then, she had genuinely believed he loved her.

That belief had survived far longer than it should have.

The door opened.

Charlotte looked up.

Ryan walked in carrying his phone and a cup of coffee.

As if he had stopped by between meetings.

"You're awake."

Charlotte watched him take a seat.

"I almost died."

Ryan sighed and rubbed the back of his neck.

"Charlotte, that's a little dramatic."

A bitter laugh escaped her before she could stop it.

"The doctor said I could have died."

"But you didn't."

His answer came so quickly that Charlotte wondered if he had even heard himself.

For the first time, she noticed how tired she felt whenever she looked at him.

Ryan checked a message on his phone.

"You should probably take better care of yourself."

Charlotte stared at him.

"I called you."

"I was busy."

"I told you I needed help."

Ryan looked up.

"And what exactly was I supposed to do?"

The question stunned her.

For several seconds she couldn't find words.

Finally she whispered, "Come home."

Ryan's jaw tightened.

"You know how demanding my schedule is."

Charlotte lowered her gaze.

There was no point continuing.

Every conversation with Ryan ended in the same place.

He always had a reason.

She was always expected to understand.

A few minutes later he stood.

"I have another appointment."

Of course he did.

Charlotte watched him leave without asking him to stay.

For the first time since they got married, she wasn't sure she wanted him to.

Three days later, the hospital discharged her.

The drive home felt longer than usual.

Ryan spent most of it looking at his phone.

Several times she noticed him smiling at messages.

Several times she noticed him quickly locking the screen whenever she glanced in his direction.

By the time they reached the Whitmore mansion, Charlotte's headache had returned.

She stepped out of the car and immediately noticed several expensive suitcases near the front entrance.

Women's suitcases.

Too many for a short visit.

Charlotte frowned.

"Are we expecting guests?"

Ryan didn't answer.

A strange feeling settled in her stomach.

The closer they got to the front door, the stronger it became.

The moment she stepped into the living room, she understood why.

Vanessa Hart was sitting on the sofa.

One hand rested on a noticeably pregnant stomach.

Charlotte stopped walking.

For a second, the room felt completely silent.

Then Margaret stood up with a smile so wide it almost looked triumphant.

"Look who's finally home."

Charlotte's eyes moved from Vanessa's face to her stomach.

Then to Ryan.

Then back again.

Nobody looked embarrassed.

They looked comfortable.

As if Charlotte was the one interrupting something.

Vanessa offered an awkward smile.

"Hi, Charlotte."

Charlotte ignored her.

"What is she doing here?"

Ryan loosened his tie.

"Vanessa will be staying with us."

The words landed like a physical blow.

Charlotte stared at him.

"Excuse me?"

"Her apartment is undergoing renovations."

Charlotte laughed because the alternative was screaming.

"You moved your pregnant mistress into our house?"

Margaret immediately slammed her hand onto the armrest.

"Watch your mouth."

Charlotte didn't even look at her.

She couldn't take her eyes off Ryan.

"You expect me to believe this is normal?"

Ryan folded his arms.

"I expect you to act like an adult."

Charlotte shook her head slowly.

"No, Ryan. Adults don't move their mistresses into their marital homes."

Vanessa lowered her eyes.

For a moment Charlotte almost thought she felt guilty.

Then Vanessa gently rubbed her stomach.

The gesture felt less like shame and more like victory.

Margaret walked over and placed a hand on Vanessa's shoulder.

"She needs support right now."

Charlotte looked at her in disbelief.

"Then support her."

"We are."

Margaret smiled.

"And so are you."

Charlotte frowned.

"What does that mean?"

Ryan answered.

"It means Vanessa shouldn't be stressing herself during the pregnancy."

Charlotte already knew where this was going.

She just couldn't believe they were actually going to say it.

Ryan continued.

"You'll help take care of her."

For several seconds, Charlotte genuinely thought she had misheard him.

Then she laughed again.

This time there was no humor in it.

"You want me to take care of your pregnant mistress?"

Margaret rolled her eyes.

"Honestly, Charlotte, stop making everything about yourself."

Charlotte turned toward her.

"Everything about me?"

Margaret pointed at Vanessa's stomach.

"That baby is the future of this family."

The future of this family.

Charlotte felt something crack inside her chest.

Five years of fertility treatments.

Five years of blame.

Five years of humiliation.

And now the child of another woman was suddenly more important than the wife who had nearly died three days ago.

Ryan stepped closer.

"Vanessa needs someone around during the day."

Charlotte stared at him.

"What about me?"

Ryan frowned.

"What about you?"

The answer hurt more than she expected.

Because he genuinely didn't understand the question.

That evening Charlotte stayed upstairs.

She couldn't force herself to sit through dinner while Margaret celebrated the pregnancy and Ryan acted as if nothing was wrong.

Around midnight she finally left her room to get a glass of water.

The hallway was quiet.

As she walked past Ryan's bedroom, she noticed the door was open.

The room was empty.

Charlotte stopped.

A strange feeling twisted in her stomach.

Then she looked farther down the hall.

Light spilled from beneath Vanessa's door.

A man's laughter drifted through the crack.

Ryan's laughter. Then Vanessa's.

Then Ryan again.

Charlotte stood there for several seconds while reality settled around her like ice.

Vanessa wasn't staying in the guest wing.

Ryan wasn't even pretending anymore.

Charlotte turned away before either of them could see her.

She walked back toward her room while trying to ignore the sound of their voices behind the closed door.

When she finally reached her bedroom, she locked the door, leaned against it, and slowly slid to the floor.

For the first time since her parents died, Charlotte felt completely alone.