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

Finalizing the Past and Moving Forward

That Friday, we all met to sign a financial freeze agreement. Joseph’s hand shook as he signed his name, and Ashley wouldn’t even look at him. Having that legal protection meant I could finally sleep through the night.

I organized a staff appreciation dinner, and we spent three hours talking about the business. We decided to cap our membership at a thousand to maintain quality. Edwin met with the mediator and requested confidentiality because of his photography contracts.

Joseph’s lawyer sent over a settlement proposal suggesting I pay Joseph $75,000 for his “emotional investment” in my success. My accountant laughed out loud and drafted a response showing every penny for the gym came from my inheritance and post-separation income. The facts were completely on my side.

Ashley sent me a text two days later. “Thanks for pushing for mediation instead of letting this turn into a public court fight that would destroy my influencer income,” she wrote.

At the lab for the paternity test, Joseph went first, then Ashley, then Edwin. The forensic accountant called that Friday with the final report. Joseph’s name wasn’t on a single document, and she said his lawyer would be stupid to keep pushing.

At the next mediation session, Joseph read a statement taking responsibility for his choices without asking for reconciliation. Ashley announced a break from social media. I felt the tight feeling in my chest loosen.

The paternity results confirmed Edwin was the father with 99.9% certainty. He and Ashley started working out a co-parenting agreement. Joseph’s lawyer finally convinced him to accept reality, and he agreed to a settlement of $5,000 as a goodwill gesture.

We met on a Thursday afternoon to sign the final papers. That knot in my chest finally disappeared completely. Everything felt calm until I was teaching a morning spin class five weeks before my due date.

The first contraction hit hard. Dale showed up in 12 minutes and helped me to his truck. The birth plan we’d practiced kicked in perfectly.

After hours of pushing, at 3:47 a.m., our daughter came out screaming. Dale actually cried when she wrapped her tiny fingers around his pinky. That night, I typed a quick message to Ashley, hoping her delivery would go smoothly when her time came.

When we finally got home, there were containers of food stacked on our porch from my gym staff. Three weeks later, we went to the final mediation session. Joseph looked calmer and mentioned starting therapy and a technical training program.

The divorce papers were signed, and I felt a weird lightness in my chest. Two months after that, Ashley had her baby and sent me a photo.

“Thanks for suggesting mediation instead of court battles. We weren’t going to be friends or anything, but at least we weren’t enemies,” the message said.

I started bringing the baby to the gym for early morning sessions. My parents called asking to visit, and I gave them clear rules—two hours max and no talking about Joseph or Ashley. They actually followed the rules.

That weekend, Dale and I sat on the floor surrounded by baby clothes. He mentioned we should think about getting married next year. No rush, no pressure—just two people building something real together.