Chapter 1

On the day of my divorce, while my mother-in-law basked in the spotlight of congratulatory messages for the ultrasound of Wesley Wick’s mistress, I took a different approach. With a cold smile, I shared Wesley’s premarital checkup report—a document that exposed the truth behind the facade. The report clearly stated: “Wesley Wick, Male, Diagnosed with Congenital Azoospermia.”

“I don’t want a man who can’t have children!”

Wesley and I met in college and got together after graduation. After graduation, my salary wasn’t high, barely enough to make ends meet, so we had to rent a shabby, unfinished apartment. Wesley and I worked at the same company. After work, he would drive me home, and during holidays, he would give me little gifts. If nothing else, he would at least take me out for hamburgers.

I grew up in the shadows of neglect, my parents absent and my childhood devoid of wealth or stability. The only beacon in my turbulent life was my grandmother As a child, others would say I was a wild child that Grandma picked up. I never believed them. After Grandma passed away, I had no home, so I envied those who did.

Because I lacked love growing up, I became increasingly dependent on Wesley. When we were dating, he was gentle and considerate, always taking care of my feelings, never looking down on my family or background. I was young and mistook his cheap kindness for love.

When he proposed, he promised to give me a happy and fulfilling family. I was overjoyed and married him.Once we were engaged, Wesley's relatives made their opinions known, snickering behind my back. They called me a wild chicken trying to be a phoenix, hinting at my questionable origins and even suggesting I might be carrying some mysterious illness. They insisted on a premarital medical checkup. I took a deep breath and pushed aside my pride, swallowing the sting of their words for Wesley’s sake.

When the results came out, it turned out that Wesley had congenital azoospermia, meaning we wouldn’t be able to have children, and there was no cure for it. I cherished our relationship and loved him deeply, so I chose to keep it a secret to protect his feelings. I wanted to live a good life with him, and I thought that as long as we loved each other, it didn’t matter if we couldn’t have children; we could always adopt one if we wanted. That was my thinking, but others didn’t see it that way.

After we got married, my mother-in-law made my life difficult in every possible way. She started by insisting that I quit my job to have a child and be a stay-at-home wife. At first, I refused, but Wesley persuaded me, promising that he would earn money to support us while I stayed at home, beautiful and carefree. I believed his sweet words, quit my job, and became a full-time housewife.

But what awaited me after marriage was endless grievances and heartache. Every morning, I woke up to cook, and after cooking, I would wash clothes, mop the floor, and wash the dishes after eating. After cleaning up, just as I was about to rest, my mother-in-law would throw a pile of underwear at me. This wasn’t the first time she had asked me to wash her undergarments.

With a weary sigh, I looked at her and said, "Mom, undergarments and other personal clothing are meant to be washed by the wearer. It’s not my place to handle such private matters."

She was busy texting someone to come over and play mahjong and looked up at me with a glare: "If I tell you to wash it, then wash it. Where do you get so much nonsense?"

I refused.

I threw the basin into the bathroom and went back to my room to change the bed sheets. My mother-in-law started cursing loudly in the living room, "So now you think you're tough? Did we marry you to treat you like a queen? Look in the mirror; do you really think you’re goddess? Get out here and wash those clothes, or I’ll call my son to teach you a lesson!"

I couldn’t take it anymore. "I married into your family, but I wasn’t sold to you. I didn’t take a penny of dowry when I married. If you want a maid, hire one!" I slammed the door and cried on the bed.

My mother-in-law called Wesley, playing the victim. When he came home, he dragged me out of bed, "Diana, apologize to Mom!"

Every time we argued, he always sided with his mother!

"Why should I apologize? What did I do wrong? She bullies me, and you want me to apologize?" I wiped away my tears and turned away from him.

My mother-in-law also came into the room, her words biting, "I told you not to marry her, and look, it hasn’t been long, and she’s already trying to dominate me."

Wesley pushed her out of the room, "Alright, Mom, enough. I’ll talk to her." He handed me a tissue to wipe my tears, "Diana, Mom is old, and she has a heart condition. You’re so magnanimous, you should be more accommodating, right? Just go and make peace with her."

He knew I was soft-hearted and wouldn’t hold a grudge against his mother, so he coaxed me into apologizing. But little did he know, the more I let it slide, the more she bullied me!