Leaving Him With Nothing

Three years into my marriage with Michael, my periods just… stopped.
Then, this woman shows up at my door, makeup caked on, hand possessively on her belly, chin tilted up like she owned the place. She shoves a stack of divorce papers at me like she’s doing me a favor.
Mike told me he's gonna marry me. If you know what's good for you, you'll get your stuff and get out!
Two months later, in court.
I clutched the divorce decree, a tight smile on my face as I looked at Michael and Jessica. "Excuse me, but could you please get your trash off my property as soon as possible?"
Rewind a bit. For the first two years I was married to Michael, getting pregnant was my full-time job, on top of my actual job. Chinese herbs, Western medicine, fertility clinics – you name it, I tried it. Nothing worked. God wasn't listening, or maybe just didn't care.
Then came year three, and boom – menopause, basically. At the doctor's office, staring at the lab report, the number practically screamed at me: AMH 0.5. The room spun. It felt like my world was ending.
Michael’s mom is… well, let’s just say she’s from a small town with very traditional values. Carrying on the family name is everything to her. Michael’s her only son, the golden child who clawed his way out of poverty, got a college degree, and landed a decent government job here in the city. She poured everything into him. He was her everything.
Now, Michael had the respectable job, the nice wife, the house in the suburbs… everything except a kid. His mom never let us forget it. Little comments here and there, getting louder over time, about needing a grandchild.
Honestly, I hadn’t planned on rushing into kids, but Michael couldn't handle his mom's constant nagging, so we started trying. Me? I'm an OB/GYN. I bring dozens of babies into the world every week. I know better than anyone what a huge responsibility a child is. It’s not a whim; it’s a lifetime commitment of love and care.
So, we decided. We tried. And tried. Nothing.
His mom always acted like it was my fault, giving me the cold shoulder whenever she visited. Michael, to his credit back then, would try to smooth things over. He’d comfort me in private, buy me little gifts, cook dinner sometimes. I appreciated it. It made swallowing handfuls of fertility drugs a little easier.
Turns out, his mom was right all along. It was me.
2
That night, I got home and tried to keep it together. I placed the lab report on the kitchen table, my hands shaking slightly.
"What's this?" Michael asked, looking confused.
"My test results."
The words "test results" were like a trigger for his mom. She practically lunged across the table and snatched the paper before Michael could even reach for it.
"AMH 0.5? What the hell does that mean?"
Michael’s face paled. He’d been to enough doctor’s appointments with me to pick up some of the jargon.
"It means her egg count is practically zero! She can barely get pregnant!" His mom’s voice screeched, confirming his fear.
"That's right," I said, forcing myself to sound calm, though the lump in my throat threatened to choke me. "I can't have children."
"I knew it!" She jabbed a finger towards my face. "My Michael is perfectly healthy! How could he not have kids by now? It’s because of you, you cursed luck!" Her voice dripped with venom. "Honestly, even a rock in a warm bed could probably hatch something after three years! What's wrong with your womb?"
"I told him you were damaged goods! See? Damaged!"
Her words were getting nastier, more personal. Michael finally stepped in. "Mom! That’s enough. Sarah feels bad enough already!"
I grew up comfortably middle-class, maybe not rich, but definitely sheltered by loving parents. I’d never had anyone talk to me like that, so raw and cruel. Tears welled up despite my best efforts.
"What are you doing? Getting too big for your britches now?" she snapped back at Michael. "Forgot who starved and scraped so you could go to college?" She always held that over his head, convinced I'd turned him against her.
"I told you not to marry her from the start! And now look! Can't even give me a grandchild!"
"Bottom line, you have to divorce her! Our family name means something back home! Marrying a woman who can't have kids? How can I show my face? Do you want our family line to just… end with you?"
Her furious rant silenced Michael. He knew exactly how much she’d sacrificed for him, collecting cans, working odd jobs, anything to keep him in school. That guilt was a powerful weapon.
"Sarah," Michael turned and took my hand. His felt clammy. "Mom's just upset. I'm not going to divorce you. Don't worry."
I squeezed his hand back, clinging to that shred of hope, my eyes probably showing more love than he deserved.
3
The next few weeks were a blur of internet searches and consultations with colleagues at the hospital. I desperately looked for any way to boost my AMH levels, but it was hopeless.
There was only one path left: IVF. In Vitro Fertilization.
Problem was, we’d just bought the house, sinking every penny we had into the down payment and taking on a massive $400,000 mortgage. IVF wasn't cheap. There were different levels, different protocols. I wanted the best chance, the most expensive option – tens of thousands of dollars. I didn’t want my issue to compromise the health of our potential child. I just wanted a healthy baby.
I talked it over with Michael. Between my salary and his government job, we brought in about 0-05,000 a month, but after the $5,000 mortgage payment and other bills, there was no way we could afford a huge IVF bill upfront.
I suggested we ask his mom for a loan. I knew Michael sent her money every month; I just pretended not to notice. Who wouldn’t help out their own mother?
When we brought it up, she hit the roof.
"Absolutely not! I forbid it!"
"Mom, Sarah just wants us to have a baby, give you that grandchild you want," Michael tried to reason.
"Ha! Don't kid yourself. She’s just after the money you've been giving me!" She glared at me, suspicion etched on her face. She didn't have a pension, just a small fixed income, so Michael’s monthly contribution was her lifeline.
"Mom, that’s not true, I really just—" My defense sounded weak even to my own ears.
"Michael, if you have any respect left for me, you’ll divorce her!"
So, the loan idea died right there.
And slowly, things started to shift with Michael. He was still acting gentle, but his words started carrying a subtle sting, constantly reminding me of my infertility.
"Look, it is a fact you can't conceive. Mom didn't say anything untrue, she was just… blunt about it. You need to be more understanding."
"I still love you, you know. Whether you can have kids or not."
"Kids aren't the most important thing. Having you is enough for me."
"We'll save up slowly. We can wait a few more years for kids. Don't put pressure on yourself."
"You're overthinking things. I'm only saying this stuff for your own good."
4
I started shutting down, growing quiet, anxious, and easily irritated. I kept wondering what terrible thing I must have done in a past life to deserve this.
Michael started coming home later and later. "Work," he'd say. "Trying to get that promotion to supervisor, gotta put in the hours, make a good impression."
My own shifts at the hospital, often overnight, meant we barely saw each other anyway. Our communication dwindled to almost nothing. I couldn't even remember the last time we'd actually been intimate.
One night, a colleague covered my shift, so I got off early. It was around 11 PM when I got home. The living room was dark, but I heard the shower running in the master bathroom, and muffled sounds of Michael talking.
A small smile touched my lips. I decided to surprise him. I quietly changed into the silky black lingerie I’d bought a while back, hoping to reignite something. Tiptoeing to the bathroom door, I reached for the handle.
That’s when I heard it, a sentence that froze the blood in my veins.
"My wife? Please, that barren woman can't hold a candle to you!" Michael’s voice was slick, sleazy, unrecognizable.
My hand hovered over the doorknob, unable to push it down.
"Stop hiding! It's not like I haven't seen it all before!"
"Come on, move the phone down a little lower!"
"Oh, Mikey, you're making me blush~" A simpering female voice came through the phone speaker, loud enough for me to hear over the running water.
I couldn't believe it. My quiet, dependable husband was video-calling another woman while she showered?
"Yeah, yeah! Right there!"
The conversation that followed… I can’t even repeat it. It was disgusting. Listening to his low groans from inside the bathroom, I knew exactly what was happening.
All strength drained from my body. I slumped against the wall, sliding down to the cold tile floor outside the door. The water kept running. I don't know how long I sat there.
"Mikey," the woman's voice purred, sounding weak but satisfied. "When are you finally gonna divorce your wife?"
"It's gonna take a little more time," Michael replied, still slightly breathless.
"What do you mean!" Her voice sharpened with annoyance. "You keep saying that! Wait, wait, wait! I'm tired of waiting!"
"I already told you, Jess," Michael explained patiently, "if I divorce her now, she gets half the house. Give me a little longer. I promise I'll get her to sign a property agreement, make her give up her claim willingly."
"Really?"
"Jess, would I lie to you? You know how crazy I am about you. I want to marry you as soon as possible."
Then, his voice dropped, filled with contempt. "Besides… a woman who can't even have kids thinks she deserves half my property? Dream on! If I wasn't trying to trick her into signing that agreement, I'd have kicked her out months ago!"

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