My husband divorced me for a president’s daughter unaware I owned $5 billion. later, they mocked me!
The Beginning of the End
I’m happily settled in life, having married into a wealthy family. My name is Patricia, and I’m 37, living contentedly with my husband, Mason. I work in my family’s real estate business, handling mostly administrative duties, while my father, the president, oversees major strategies.
As an only child, I’m expected to one day lead the company. Despite the looming responsibility, I maintain a careful balance between my personal and professional life, especially around Mason.
He completed high school and works for a moving company, a demanding job that I respect. To avoid making him feel inadequate, I rarely discuss my university degree or my anticipated future as president of the company.
Mason and I met through a mutual friend during college. His easygoing nature complimented my meticulousness, and our relationship flourished. We married in our late 20s after a brief courtship.
Our marriage has been smooth, bolstered by the warm acceptance of Mason’s parents, a refreshing contrast to the typical in-law challenges some of my friend’s face. Despite Mason’s demanding job often keeping him out until late, physically exhausting him, he remained committed to our marriage.
Even on his toughest days, he’d express gratitude as I waited up to share dinner with him. I felt fortunate to have such a devoted husband, but after a year of marriage, our peaceful life began to show signs of strain.
One night as we settled into bed, Mason unexpectedly brought up the topic of having children. His tone was tinged with irritation, catching me off guard. I had thought about starting a family, too, and though we weren’t actively trying, I believed it would happen naturally with time.
I reassured him, “It’s only been a year; there’s no rush.”
I wanted children, but I knew stressing about it wouldn’t help. To calm the situation, I adopted a relaxed demeanor, but Mason, more assertive than usual, quoted statistics.
“You know there’s about a 90% chance of conceiving within a year for couples not using contraception.”
Not well versed in such specifics, that figure sounded surprisingly high to me.
“If you’re concerned, maybe we should both get tested,” I suggested, thinking it wise to address any potential issues together.
However, Mason’s reaction was unexpectedly harsh.
“What are you implying, that it’s my fault? Usually, it’s the woman’s fault,” he retorted, his tone filled with contempt.
It was the first time he’d spoken to me this way. I hadn’t accused him of anything; I merely suggested a joint approach to find clarity. Yet Mason concluded I was blaming him and added, “It’s definitely the woman’s fault,” as if to underline that I was the problem. I wanted to respond, but I was too shaken, barely managing to reply, “Of course.”
“So just you get tested. I’m too busy with work. I have a job too, you know. You’re just coasting along in your dad’s company,” he snapped.
His words stung. I never just coasted; although my role involved many administrative tasks, I was actively learning management skills from my father. That night any attempt at discussion was met with curt replies, and we fell asleep with our backs turned in silence, a heavy air hanging between us.
From then on, Mason’s attitude toward me shifted drastically. Returning home late one evening after a discussion about the future with my father, I found Mason irate over dinner not being ready.
“I’m sorry, I just got home 15 minutes ago. I’ll start cooking now, just wait a little please,” I hurriedly explained.
But Mason dismissed it.
“That’s typical of a small company’s boss’s daughter.”
He didn’t realize the scale of my father’s business, a significant real estate company with hundreds of employees. His assumptions and the increasing bitterness made navigating our daily lives more challenging. Arguing seemed pointless as I hurried to the kitchen, promising Mason I’d cook immediately.
“Have a drink and relax while you wait,” I suggested, knowing how alcohol seemed to soothe him.
It saddened me that our relationship had come to rely on his evening drinks to avoid tension. The next day Mason’s cold demeanor lingered as he left for work, his parting words sharp.
“Make sure dinner’s ready when I get home.”
I exhaled deeply, my mind on the day ahead. I had scheduled a day off to visit the gynecologist for fertility testing, something Mason had insisted on, though he refused to participate himself.
It was frustrating to go through this alone, but complaining wouldn’t help. If the problem lay with me, I wanted to start treatment immediately, understanding that fertility could decline with age.
When Mason returned home that evening, I told him, “I went for the fertility test today.”
His response was curt.
“Figures. If the problem’s with you, it’s good you’re getting tested. Let me know the results.”
His assumption that I was to blame for our difficulties in conceiving was hurtful.
Six years passed, and I turned 37; our attempts to have a child continued without success. Mason had resigned himself to not becoming a father; his late nights became more frequent, and sometimes he didn’t come home at all. His disregard for our life together was painfully obvious.
One day after Mason left the house on his day off, I noticed he had forgotten his smartphone in the living room. I picked it up intending to place it in his room, but it rang just then. The caller ID displayed a name: Diana. Assuming she was a colleague, I answered to let her know Mason had left his phone at home.
“Hey Mason, you’re late. I’ve been waiting for 50 minutes. Hurry up or we’ll miss the park opening. We haven’t had a date in so long,” a flirtatious voice said from the other end.
The mention of a date stunned me, and I quickly hung up, my heart racing. Holding his phone, proof of his infidelity, clenched in my hand, I felt a mix of shock and anger.
While I struggled with potential infertility, Mason had been carelessly engaging in an affair. Realizing that Mason no longer needed me in his life was a devastating blow, but discovering his betrayal made the situation even more unbearable.
