My Husband Picked My Sister – A Year Later, I Owned A Top Gym And Had A Fiancé

The Betrayal That Changed Everything

“I can’t keep lying to myself; your sister is the one I really want,” my husband told me.

“Then have her,” I answered back.

One year later, I was the owner of the most successful gym in the city. What my ex-husband did when he saw me happier than ever with my new fiancé still makes me die with laughter.

Joseph and I had been trying for a baby for 18 months. I planned to surprise him that I was pregnant on his birthday. I already had the positive test and a list of 100 baby names set up.

But then Ashley called him. She was my younger sister, the fitness influencer with the perfect body and a bachelor’s degree whose bikini pics Joseph double-tapped daily. I still dressed up every night, begging him for the same attention.

“I want to talk about something,” Joseph said, still scrolling through Netflix.

He and Ashley had talked. “She’s more equipped for what I want from life,” he said.

Seven years of working overtime to pay for his community college and ruining my body with IVF treatments were everything he was tossing into the garbage. It was all because my own sister sweet-talked in his ear.

“Then have her,” I found myself saying through tears.

He looked up from the TV. “Wait, you’re just okay with it? Do you even love me?” he asked.

“I do love you, but clearly my love isn’t enough. So just take your things and go,” I replied.

He left to meet Ashley at a photo shoot that same evening and came back to get his things the next morning. Her hair tie was on his wrist, and her lipstick was still on his neck. He smelled like her.

We slept in separate beds; he lied right to me. What Joseph didn’t know was that I’d already been suspicious. Ashley opened up to him more than her own friends and always invited him to come work out. She even hired him as a replacement photographer for one of her shoots.

My mom called me exactly 24 hours later. “Did you hear? Joseph and Ashley are finally together! Aren’t you just delighted for them?” she asked.

Our seven years of marriage was worth nothing. A couple of flirty attempts from Ashley and all of a sudden, everyone’s calling them the best thing that happened to this family.

“I’m sure you’ll meet someone new, sweetie. Ashley’s just hard to compete with,” my mother said.

I was so close to punching them, to telling them about the baby. Instead, I ended the call and focused on my pregnancy.

From Rock Bottom to the Weight Room

I miscarried three weeks later. Doctors said it was stress and improper fusion. I was at rock bottom.

That Monday, I drove past a gym on my way home from work. The sign on the front door said, “Clean up crew hiring. No qualifications needed.” With my life plans derailed, I said screw it and parked my car.

The gym owner was a retired bodybuilder. “You look like nothing a six-pack and a glute workout couldn’t solve,” she said.

I chuckled for the first time in months. I got the job, and up in that weight room, nothing else mattered. It was just me and the barbell.

It wasn’t about Joseph, Ashley, or my parents celebrating their engagement. I came home one day to Ashley helping Joseph clear out the last of his stuff.

“You’re sweaty,” Ashley commented, handing me a napkin.

“Stairs are hard for certain people,” she added. They both laughed at her joke.

I didn’t say a word, just went to change as they loaded things into their car. The gym became my outlet. What I saved, I spent on protein supplements and workout clothes that made me feel slay.

The gym owner noticed I hit my goal weight and decided to pay for my qualification. Within eight months, I had my personal training license. I started coaching women who paid me $60 an hour.

One woman, Maryanne, the wife of a real estate agent, particularly liked me. “You’re an inspiration. We need more people like you,” she told me.

She told me about an old for-sale building on the side of town without a gym. She got her husband to cut me a deal. I put my life savings into it and slept on the unheated floor eating tinned food.

People in Maryanne’s circle were already offering thousands for equity in my future gym. Joseph actually contacted me two months after that.

“Saw on your IG you’re a PT now. Being like Ashley won’t win me back, you know,” he messaged.

I ignored him. I was busy driving with Maryanne to an investor meeting where the equipment of my gym would be funded with $150,000 for the best machines around.