My Mother Demanded I Divorce My Husband And Give Him Our House Because He Got My Sister Pregnant. Little Do They Know, I’m A Cfo And Have Already Secured The Assets. How Do I Tell Them They’re Now Trespassing On My Property?
The Ultimatum at Dinner
“He loves her, not you. Leave him the house and the money. I’ve signed the divorce papers. She can have him, but the house and the money are mine.”
My mother didn’t even blink when she told me to give my husband to her. She just sliced into her steak, looked me dead in the eye, and said,
“Veronica, be reasonable. Barbara is carrying his child. He needs her more than he needs you.”
I froze. The fork in my hand suddenly felt as heavy as a lead weight. The air in the dining room of my parents’ sprawling suburban house, usually filled with the scent of my mother’s expensive peonies, now smelled chokingly of grilled meat and betrayal.
I scanned the table. My father was staring into his glass of wine, avoiding my gaze. My sister, Barbara, was glowing; her hand rested protectively on a slight bump in her belly that I hadn’t noticed until 10 seconds ago.
And Greg, my husband of 10 years, the man who had kissed me goodbye that morning and told me he loved me, was holding Barbara’s other hand.
“I’m sorry,”
I whispered. My voice sounded small and pathetic. It was the voice of the little girl who used to apologize for simply existing in this house.
Greg finally looked at me. There was no guilt in his eyes; they were filled with defiance.
“Veronica, please don’t make a scene,”
he said, using the condescending tone one uses with a hysterical child.
“We didn’t want to tell you like this, but we couldn’t hide it anymore. Barbara is 4 months along. We’re in love.”
I felt the blood drain from my face.
“Four months? You’ve been sleeping with my sister for 4 months?”
“Or longer,”
Barbara interjected. She smirked, the slight cruel twist of her lips that I knew so well.
“It doesn’t matter, Veronica. The timeline is irrelevant. What matters is that we’re a family now. A real family. Something you obviously couldn’t give him.”
The blow was precise, a direct hit on our struggles with infertility. The years of negative tests, the nights I’d cried in Greg’s arms while he whispered that it didn’t matter, that we were enough for each other—it was all a lie.
A Family Betrayal
I looked to my mother, Cynthia. Surely she would be furious. Surely she would slap Greg and throw him out. But she just took a sip of her wine.
“Veronica, look at the facts. You’re a career woman, always traveling, always obsessed with your company. You’re strong. You can survive on your own. But Barb, she’s fragile. She needs a provider, and that baby is my grandchild. My flesh and blood.”
“I’m your flesh and blood too!”
I snapped, my voice rising.
“He’s my husband!”
“Technically,”
my father, Arthur, grumbled. He finally looked up.
“But the marriage is effectively over, isn’t it? You two have been drifting apart. We’ve all seen it. Greg is happy with Barbara. Look at them.”
I looked. They looked like a grotesque parody of a happy couple, my husband and my younger sister. Nausea rose in a powerful wave.
I stood up. My chair scraped loudly against the hardwood floor.
“Sit down, Veronica,”
my mother commanded.
“We need to discuss the arrangements.”
“Greg can’t just move into some rental. He needs stability for the baby. We think it’s best if you move into the downtown apartment. Leave the house for Greg and Barbara. It’s a good neighborhood and it’s close to us so we can help with the baby.”
My jaw dropped.
“You want me to move out of my own house? The house I bought? The house I pay the mortgage on?”
“It’s Greg’s house too,”
my mother said dismissively.
“Community property laws, isn’t that right? Anything acquired during the marriage is split 50/50. Besides, you have plenty of money. You can buy another one. Don’t be greedy, Veronica. It’s not a good look.”
Greedy? I paid for everything. I paid off my parents’ car loan. I paid for Barbara’s three failed attempts at a college degree. I paid for Greg’s business ventures that never made a single dime. And now I was the greedy one for wanting to keep my own home?
“I’m leaving,”
I said, grabbing my purse. My hands were shaking so badly I could barely hold the strap.
“If you walk out that door,”
Greg said, his voice dropping an octave trying to sound authoritative,
“you’ll be proving why I left you. You’re cold. You care more about your assets than you do about a human life.”
“I care about loyalty!”
I screamed, the sound echoing off the walls.
“I care that my husband is sleeping with my sister!”
“Hush,”
my mother hissed.
“What will the neighbors think?”
I looked at them one last time. A tableau of monsters: my parents enabling betrayal, my sister stealing my life, my husband a traitor.
“I’m not giving you the house,”
I said, my voice trembling but clear.
“And I’m not giving you an uncontested divorce.”
“You will,”
my mother said confidently.
“Because if you don’t, you will lose this family forever. Do the right thing, Veronica. Be the bigger sister for once.”
