My Mil Called Me A “fruitless Tree” And Forced A Divorce. My Ceo Husband Handed Me $5m And Kicked Me Out In The Rain. Little Do They Know, I’m Carrying His Twins. Should I Disappear Forever?

A Woman’s Happiness: From Reject to Rebirth

People often say a woman’s happiness or misery depends on her husband, but I think differently. A woman’s happiness or misery lies in her ability to let go of what doesn’t belong to her.

I stood hesitatingly at the entrance of the prestigious Park Avenue Women’s Pavilion in New York, clutching the sonogram report in my hand, already wrinkled from the sweat of my palm. Despite my nerves, a strange warmth was rising from deep within me, spreading through my entire body.

The doctor had just pointed to a blurry black and white screen to tell me with a jubilant voice, “Congratulations were in order, Mrs. Sinclair. It was a twin pregnancy. Both fetal hearts were beating very strongly.”

Two little souls were growing inside of me. It was the result of three agonizing years of waiting, and also the result of that fateful drunken night. I gently caressed my belly, smiling as I whispered, “Mommy’s treasures, you finally arrived.”

I took a cab back to the estate in Greenwich, Connecticut, the place I had called home for the past three years, but where I had never felt any warmth.

The Storm at Home

A light drizzle began to fall. The raindrops hit the car window, cold and sharp like a premonition of an impending storm. As I stepped out of the cab, the smile vanished from my lips, replaced by a paralyzing stupor.

My old gray suitcase, the only thing I had brought with me when I married into this opulent family, lay abandoned in the middle of the rain-soaked flagstone courtyard. My clothes and books were scattered everywhere. Some of my white dresses, stained with mud, made for a pathetic sight.

Before I could react, the heavy oak door swung open. Beatrice, my mother-in-law, stood there with a glacial expression. Her sharp eyes looked at me as if I were a piece of trash to be disposed of. Without a word, she threw a sheath of papers at my face.

The white pages fluttered erratically before landing in a puddle at my feet. I bent down to pick them up. The bolded phrase that hit my eyes made me let out a bitter laugh: Diagnosis: Polycystic ovary syndrome. Low ovarian reserve. Possibility of conception: nil.

Beatrice lifted her chin and said, “Look at it closely. The doctor has confirmed it. You are a fruitless tree.”

The Sinclair family had three generations of only sons; they couldn’t let their bloodline end with me.

I looked up at her, about to open my mouth to explain about the sonogram report burning in my purse, but I stopped. James was sitting in the living room. He occupied a priceless designer sofa, holding a glass of Napa Cabernet that he swirled gently.

His posture was one of cruel calm. Seeing me, he didn’t even bother to stand. He simply set the glass on the table and spoke in a voice that carried to me, a tone as serene as if he were discussing the weather. “Eleanor,” he said, “Mom is right. Let’s end this.”

I walked into the house, not caring about my soaked clothes, and looked directly at the man I had loved with my entire being for the last three years. James still had the sophisticated air of a major CEO, but the look he gave me now held only weariness and annoyance.

He pushed an exclusive black bank card and a divorce agreement, already signed with his name, toward me. He said that Sophia was back in the States and she needed a certain status. He told me there was $5 million on the card; to consider it compensation for three years of my youth.

“Take it and sign the papers. Don’t make this any more difficult for us.”

Sophia. That name was like a knife to my heart. His high school sweetheart, the woman he had never forgotten despite being married to me. It turned out the reason I was being kicked out wasn’t just that fake medical report, but because the true owner of his heart had returned.

Beatrice at his side added a venom-laced sentence, “For him to give you 5 million is more than generous for a useless daughter-in-law like you. Take the money and get out of my sight. Don’t let Sophia see you here and get upset.”

A New Beginning

I looked at the card lying inert on the glass table and then I glanced down at my belly. If this had been the Eleanor of yesterday, I probably would have fallen to my knees crying, begging them not to throw me out, or I would have screamed defending myself against the injustice that I wasn’t sterile.

But now, feeling the presence of the little lives stirring in my subconscious, everything suddenly seemed ridiculous. A husband who had been emotionally unfaithful for years? A cruel mother-in-law who would forge medical reports? Were they worth holding on to?

If I told them about my pregnancy, what would they do? Take my children and kick me out? Or force me to share my husband with that other woman? No, I couldn’t let my children grow up in an environment of coldness and conflict.

$5 million. For them, that figure was just a separation fee. But for my children and me at this moment, it was a lifeline. The capital to start a new life.

I took a deep breath, swallowing my tears, and lifted my head to look at James. Instead of the devastated expression they expected, I gave a smile so radiant it made him frown in surprise. I took the card and slipped it into my purse, right next to the twin sonogram report.

I sent a text to my best friend, my fingers flew across the keyboard as my heart felt strangely light: “I just hit the lottery. I’m free.”

Turning back to James, I pronounced each word clearly. I said, “All right, I accept the divorce. The money is on the table. Thank you for your generosity. I’ll see you at the courthouse tomorrow.”

With that, I turned and walked out of that house without a single backward glance, leaving the astonishment of mother and son behind the cold door of that mansion.