My name is Lucia Weaver, and my husband Jonathan Wilson suffers from oligospermia. To have children, we’ve undergone six IVF procedures over the five years since our marriage. This time, after I accompanied him through two hours of videos, he finally managed to produce one healthy sperm. I thought we’d finally succeed in getting pregnant, but on the day of my IVF procedure, he secretly gave his sperm to his first love, Emily Fisher. I was told that my sixth IVF attempt had failed, while Emily posted a pregnancy photo on Instagram, openly thanking Jonathan. 【Thank you Jonathan for providing the perfect sperm. I’m successfully pregnant.】 Our mutual friends commented: 【I always said if you can’t have kids, it’s definitely the woman’s problem. If Jonathan had switched partners earlier, he’d already have a son.】 Jonathan replied with a smug emoji: 【My sperm deserves someone with excellent genes like Emily!】 I quietly liked the post and commented: 【Wishing you both happiness.】 Then I immediately contacted a lawyer to draft divorce papers. A man who’s been tainted isn’t worth holding onto. ***** Right after I posted my comment, Jonathan called me. His tone was arrogant, and he started by scolding me: “Lucia, Emily’s already going through enough with IVF. You’re both women—can’t you be a little kinder? Delete that comment right now and apologize to Emily! “My sperm, my choice. Who are you to act all passive-aggressive about it? How embarrassing!” I smiled bitterly, looking down at my stomach and thighs covered in needle marks and bruises, and my body weight that had ballooned from the medications. So he did know that IVF was hard on women. But I’d gone through it six times, and he’d never shown me an ounce of sympathy. Five years of marriage, all because of his oligospermia. To fulfill his mother’s wish for a grandchild and his own desire to be a father, I endured six IVF cycles despite the toll on my body. This time, when we finally had one healthy sperm, he secretly switched the sample on the day of my procedure, all to fulfill Emily’s wish for an “unmarried pregnancy.” He’d rather let me endure the pain of another failed attempt. I had clearly told him that the doctor said this might be my last chance. IVF success rates naturally decline with each attempt, and after consecutive failures, my body was already at its breaking point. Yet he still chose Emily. Right after the doctor announced my failed procedure, he immediately reposted Emily’s Instagram story with the caption 【I’m finally going to be a ‘father.’】 That joy was palpable even through the screen. It reminded me of the disgusted expression on his face every time he had to provide samples at the hospital. “Lucia, aren’t you being annoying? I’m a human being, not a breeding machine.” “You drag me to the hospital every month. Do you know how much this hurts my pride as a man? Sure, I have oligospermia, but have you ever considered that maybe you’re the problem?” My heart felt like it was being twisted by a blade. All my years of compromise and accommodation now seemed like a joke. Like a balloon being popped, I felt only bone-deep exhaustion. I said, “Jonathan, let’s get divorced.”
After hanging up the phone, I sat motionless on the bed, staring blankly for what felt like an eternity. My mind went completely blank, as if I wasn’t thinking about anything at all. But when I finally snapped back to reality, I realized tears had already silently streamed down my face, soaking my collar. I heard movement at the door and looked up to see Jonathan walking in with a dark expression, immediately launching into an angry tirade: “Lucia, when will you stop? You keep bringing up divorce every single day…” But when he saw the profound sadness on my face, his voice suddenly cut off as if someone had grabbed his throat, and his expression changed. He awkwardly approached and kissed my cheek: “Alright, I admit I didn’t think this through, but Emily and I really have nothing going on.” It had been so long since he’d kissed me. Ever since I started trying to conceive, I’d gained fifty pounds, and my face had broken out in constant acne due to hormonal imbalances. After I became fat and ugly, he never kissed me again. I’d even seen posts he’d made online: 【My wife is fat and covered in acne, I literally can’t bring myself to kiss her. What should I do?】 【I’m even physically repulsed when we’re intimate. How do I get through this whole trying-to-conceive phase?】 Even just remembering those words still made my chest tighten with a bitter, aching pain. Jonathan asked, “Where did you put my tie?” “Left closet, third drawer,” I answered automatically. These past few years, my life had revolved around nothing but trying to get pregnant and taking care of Jonathan’s every need. Hearing my response, a slight smile crossed his face: “I knew it—you don’t really want a divorce.” He seemed relieved and started rummaging around the room again: “Where are those baby supplies you bought before? Find them for me, I’ll take them over to Emily later. “And those pregnancy guides you put together—send me a copy so I can forward them to her for reference. “Oh, and you’re free tomorrow, right? Go with Emily to her prenatal appointment. You’ve been to so many hospitals, you’ll definitely know your way around better than she does. “Also, make sure you take a cab there tomorrow. Emily’s still early in her pregnancy—if she trips or falls and has a miscarriage, that would be terrible. You need to be extra, extra careful.” In all our years of marriage, I never knew he could be this thoughtful and considerate. I let out a soft laugh, tears welling in my eyes—not because of Jonathan, but for myself. How had I managed to live such a miserable life all these years? I took a deep breath, turned to look at Jonathan, and spoke with calm, detached clarity: “Jonathan, when I said divorce, I meant it.” Jonathan’s expression froze instantly. In less than a second, he angrily whipped his tie at my face. Though the tie was soft, it still stung my cheek. He roared, “Lucia, you’ve gone too far! Haven’t you had enough? Is it really necessary to keep harping on this? “From the moment I walked in, you’ve been giving me attitude. I kissed you, I held you—what more do you want? “Emily is my good friend, and she’s having a baby. Forget one sperm—if she wanted me to sleep with her, I’d be willing.” After his furious, incoherent rant, he threw out one final line: “You need to do some serious soul-searching. I’m not coming home tonight. I’m going to Emily’s.” Watching his hurried retreat, I felt surprisingly calm. Maybe this was the difference between how he loved others and how he loved me. Jonathan indeed didn’t come home all night. I was already used to this kind of thing. For Jonathan, Emily was his safe haven where he could vent his troubles. They could chat about skiing, working out, street dancing. Now they had another topic—parenting tips. A whole night probably wasn’t even enough time for them to talk. Sure enough, after staying up all night, I opened my phone to see Emily’s latest Instagram update: [Thanks to my good friends for celebrating my baby’s two-week birthday.] The photo showed not just Jonathan, but his entire crew of street dancing friends. Emily’s comment section was flooded with messages from this group. Russel Brown: [Jonathan, you’re such a jerk for getting first dibs on being Emily’s baby’s daddy!] Simon Martin: [Right? Just thinking about Emily’s kid calling Jonathan ‘daddy’ makes me sick.] David Harrison: [No worries, when Emily has her second kid, I’m first in line.] Then Jonathan chimed in: [I’m a graduate student, I play guitar, I can street dance, and I’ve got both brains and emotional intelligence. Of course Emily chose me. You guys can’t compete with me.] Russel immediately fired back: [Aren’t you afraid your wife will find out and break your legs?] Simon followed up with mockery: [Jonathan, why don’t you just get divorced already and focus on raising Emily’s kid? Didn’t you always complain that your wife smells bad and is ugly and disgusting?] Even though I’d already made up my mind about divorce, seeing Jonathan’s friends publicly humiliate me on Instagram still sent a sharp pain through my chest. From dating to marriage, his street dancing crew had never liked me. At first, I tried to fit in with them, but watching them play kissing games and dance intimately in public—I just couldn’t accept their loose values. Finally, one time when they played truth or dare and forced Jonathan to kiss Emily, I lost it on the spot. From then on, they openly insulted me on Instagram, saying I was ugly and bad-tempered, unlike Emily who was beautiful, had a great body, and was easy to get along with. After a few unpleasant encounters with them, I stopped going altogether. But I never forced Jonathan to cut ties with them either. Even when they occasionally attacked me on Instagram, I kept quiet and endured it. Now that my marriage with Jonathan was dead in name only, I didn’t need to consider anyone’s feelings anymore. I immediately replied in Emily’s Instagram comments: [I don’t know what smell I supposedly have, but I definitely smell something fishy. If you can’t smell it, try checking your armpits. [We’re getting divorced anyway, so you can’t control me anymore. Stop dragging your feet—it’s ridiculous.] After posting that, I shared the divorce papers my lawyer had drafted overnight on Instagram with the caption: [Jonathan, sign these so I can help you and Emily get what you want.]
As soon as I posted my message, Emily left a comment under my post: [I’m sorry, Lucia. I never thought you’d be so upset about me carrying Jonathan’s baby. Don’t worry, I’ll go get an abortion later today.] Right after Emily’s comment, Jonathan’s call came through. The almost synchronized timing left me with no doubt—they must have been lying in the same bed to coordinate so perfectly. I didn’t answer Jonathan’s call. But within seconds, my parents and even Jonathan’s parents started calling one after another. I still didn’t pick up. What I didn’t expect was that Jonathan’s father, Nathan Wilson, would directly attack my parents in the family group chat. [Esther, how did you raise your daughter? Does she have any sense of responsibility in marriage? Fighting over every little thing and demanding divorce—absolutely no manners.] [Poor people really have no class. Jonathan is so unlucky to have married a wife like Lucia.] Looking at these familiar accusations, I took several deep breaths to suppress my rage before grabbing my phone and firing back at Nathan: [You’re right, my parents didn’t raise me well—that’s why I was stupid enough to come to your house and take care of an idiot.] [By the way, you’d better get to the hospital. Your grandson’s real mother is about to have an abortion. If you’re any later, your precious grandson will be gone.] After sending that message, I texted my mom Esther Weaver and my dad Dave Weaver: [Coming home tonight. I’ll explain everything then.] After finishing all this, I collapsed onto the sofa. Only then did I notice my fingers were trembling as they tapped the phone screen. What followed was a dense, aching pain in my chest. Four years of marriage—this relationship I’d poured everything into and fought so hard to maintain had now become a disgusting pile of filth. Just as I was fighting back tears, Jonathan burst through the door. He completely ignored how pale and weak I looked slumped on the sofa, walked straight over, and grabbed my hand. “Lucia, you’re coming to the hospital with me right now. Do you realize that Emily wants to get an abortion because of your tantrum?” “Do you know how much effort Emily put into getting pregnant? How many shots she has to take every day? I’m not asking you to be a good person—just stop being so vicious and destroying an innocent life.” Hearing Jonathan’s words, bitterness instantly flooded my heart. So he’d always known—known how painful and difficult IVF was. But Emily only did it once, and he was already heartbroken for her. While I had gone through it six times. I suppressed the rage churning in my chest and calmly pulled my hand free. “Jonathan, if you came back to discuss divorce, we can sit down and talk. But if you want me to beg Emily not to abort the baby, sorry—I won’t do it.” Jonathan’s expression changed immediately. “What gives you the right to refuse? If it weren’t for you, why would Emily be going to the hospital for an abortion?” “I’m telling you, today you’re going whether you like it or not!” With that, he crouched down, untied his necktie, bound my hands with it, then hoisted me over his shoulder and headed for the door. In his rush, he even slammed my head hard against the doorframe as we went through. The stinging pain accompanied tears as they slid down from my eyes. Throughout the entire ordeal, I didn’t make a sound or struggle. Not until Jonathan hoisted me up and shoved me into the car, driving me all the way to the hospital entrance. The moment we appeared, Jonathan’s friend Cole Garrett immediately lashed out: “Lucia, are you out of your mind? If you’re really sick, go to a mental hospital. What the hell are you doing spouting nonsense in mine and Emily’s Instagram comments? Do you know that because of you, Emily has been crying since this morning and even says she wants to abort the baby?” Simon chimed in: “Lucia, if you want to be a bitter woman, go ahead, but why blame others? I’ve never seen such a disgusting woman in my entire life.” Russel also urged: “Jonathan, what are you waiting for? Hurry up and bring Lucia over here to make her kneel and apologize to Emily!” Listening to their accusations, Jonathan’s expression grew darker and darker. He suddenly shoved me forward, his tone vicious: “What are you waiting for? Hurry up and apologize to Emily! I’m telling you, if Emily doesn’t forgive you and doesn’t give up on aborting the baby, I will never let you off easy.” Jonathan pushed me hard, and I fell heavily to the ground, my knees instantly bleeding with hot droplets. As I clutched my leg, unable to get up for a long time, Emily came over with red eyes: “What are you doing? How can you be so rough with Lucia? She’s just petty and can’t accept that I’m pregnant with Jonathan’s child for the moment. But even if she’s wrong, you can’t treat her like this.” Hearing Emily’s words, Jonathan immediately glared at me angrily: “Emily, don’t you dare speak up for her. The way she humiliated you on Instagram, she deserves to be taught a lesson. It’s my child, and I have the right to decide whether it stays or goes.” Listening to Jonathan’s words, I braced my hands against the ground and slowly stood up. Taking a deep breath and suppressing unprecedented rage, I suddenly slapped him hard across the face: “Jonathan, this slap is payment for the six IVF procedures I endured for you over these four years.”
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