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

The Legal Battle for the Gym

The next morning, Dale and I sat in a financial planning office going through every single account I had. We made sure Joseph’s name wasn’t on anything from our marriage days. The adviser found two joint accounts I’d forgotten about with very little money in them.

We closed them both right there and opened new ones with just my name. Dale took notes while the adviser listed every possible way Joseph could try to claim part of my gym. We created a paper trail showing everything was funded after our separation.

My phone buzzed while we were signing papers, and Ashley’s name popped up on Instagram with a message request. She wanted to talk woman-to-woman about everything that happened at the party. I took a screenshot for my records but didn’t open it.

I went back to the gym and added three extra prenatal yoga slots for myself each week. Within minutes of messaging my staff about needing coverage, they were responding with offers to help. The next day, I noticed we were getting tagged in tons of posts.

Ashley had posted a vague story about betrayal and heartbreak with a black and white photo of her looking sad. Her followers were going crazy, and somehow my gym kept getting mentioned in the comments. Our follower count jumped by 200 in just a few hours.

I called Myrtle, who came to the gym that afternoon. She sat in my office typing up a professional statement about focusing on health and wellness and respecting everyone’s privacy. She posted it, and the speculation died down pretty quick.

Joseph texted me that night saying he needed to meet urgently to fix our family. I copied the boundary message I’d sent him before and sent it again without adding anything else. A few days passed, and I finally opened Ashley’s message.

“I’ll only meet if you’re getting a paternity test and we have a professional mediator there,” I typed back.

“Yes,” she wrote back immediately.

I found a family therapist who did mediation work and sent both Ashley and Joseph separate emails with the appointment details. Everything had to stay factual with no blame games. At our weekly staff meeting, we worked together to write scripts for anyone who asked questions about the drama.

We were wrapping up when I found a thick envelope in my mailbox from a law firm. Joseph’s lawyer was suggesting he might have a claim to my gym as marital property. My stomach dropped, but I forced myself to switch into problem-solving mode.

I found a forensic accountant named Mr. Peterson. He went through every single document—bank statements, incorporation papers, the lease agreement. I’d even used inheritance money from my grandma for the down payment.

“Joseph’s claim is basically garbage since everything happened after you separated. Having the paperwork organized will shut down any attempt fast,” he told me.

That night, Dale and I were making dinner. He mentioned he didn’t want to be in the actual mediation meeting since it might make things more tense. He’d wait outside in the lobby or the car instead.

I appreciated him thinking it through like that. We were cleaning up when my phone buzzed with a text from my mom.

“Don’t destroy our family,” it said.

I stared at it for a full minute, feeling that old guilt trying to creep in. Then I just deleted it and blocked her number for now.

The Truth About the Baby

Two days later, I woke up to find blood on my underwear. Dale drove me to the emergency room while I tried not to completely lose it. They did an ultrasound and the doctor said everything looked fine.

It was just some spotting from stress, but I needed to rest more. She suggested I find a therapist who specialized in prenatal stress. The next morning, I got an email from the mediator with ground rules for our first session.

Ashley messaged me later that day saying she’d already agreed to do the paternity test. She wanted to know if I’d go with her for support.

“The mediator will handle coordinating all that stuff. We should keep our distance until then,” I typed back.

The mediation appointment came faster than I expected. Joseph was already there, wearing a suit like it was a job interview. He started talking the second we sat down about how sorry he was and how he’d been in therapy.

But then, without even taking a breath, he switched to talking about dividing up property and assets. I cut him off and stated clearly that there would be no reconciliation and any discussion about assets needed to go through our lawyers.

The mediator wrote everything down. Ashley’s paternity test was scheduled for next week. Having it all documented and official made me feel protected for the first time in weeks.

My gym hosted a charity fundraiser that weekend. The second I walked in, my regular members formed a protective circle around me. One woman actually stepped between me and someone who started to ask about the situation.

Their loyalty reminded me that I’d built something real here. Monday morning, a reporter from the local news called for a comment after someone leaked video from the anniversary party. I gave her two boring sentences about privacy and mental health, then hung up.

Two days later, the forensic accountant walked me through the possible outcomes. The worst-case scenario had me losing 30% of the business value if his lawyer could prove marital assets were used. I opened a separate emergency account and moved $50,000 into it just in case.

At my first prenatal class, the instructor taught us breathing techniques and how to advocate for ourselves during delivery. Three days passed before the next mediation session where Ashley finally broke down crying.

“The father is Edwin Wyatt,” she admitted through tears.

He was a photographer she’d worked with. The mediator wrote down his full name and contact information while Ashley stared at her hands, looking completely defeated. Edwin knew about the baby but hadn’t decided what he wanted to do yet.

Later that week, the mediator updated me that Edwin had agreed to cooperate with everything. A summary from Joseph’s therapist arrived, explaining that Joseph was working through his shame about being infertile. Reading about his issues made me feel bad for him for exactly three seconds before I remembered everything he’d put me through.