After My Infertile Husband Told Me He Had Children

When my husband, Grant Whitmore, finally told me the truth, he was still wearing the sapphire cuff links I had chosen for him. They were my gift for our 30th wedding anniversary. Just two hours earlier, at his retirement dinner, he had kissed my forehead and said there would be no Whitmore Hotel Group without me. Now he pushed a divorce agreement across the table. "Celeste has waited 29 years for me." Celeste Bennett was his former executive assistant. When she left the company, she had hugged me and said Grant and I were the most loving couple she had ever met. "And how do you plan to make it up to her?" "A wedding. And a proper home." He undid his cuffs. "Luke is 29, and Lily is 27. They're grown adults. They won't cause you any trouble." I looked down at the agreement. He had timed everything perfectly. Luke and Lily were both grown, so I would never have to support them. He was retired, so he no longer had to worry about the Group's reputation. I was the only thing left to remove. "We agreed we'd go to Bellmere next month," I said. I had spent ages choosing that hotel by the sea. Afterward, we were supposed to travel through Valoria, then board a cruise in Solmere I had even written down that Grant couldn't walk for long and needed to rest every afternoon. "Celeste wants to visit Belloria too." His gaze dropped to my handbag, where one corner of the cruise ticket was still showing. "Cancel yours." I slipped the ticket back into my bag. He waited a moment, then frowned. "Don't do this. If you start crying or making a scene, I won't know what to tell the children." "The lawyers can handle the property." His shoulders relaxed. "That's for the best. You've always known how to keep your dignity, Ivy." The next day, Grant posted a family portrait for everyone to see. It had been taken at a yacht club in Harborcrest. Celeste wore a cream dress. Luke stood with one hand on the wheel, while Lily leaned against Grant's shoulder. The caption contained only one sentence: Grant: At long last, I finally have a real home. I stared at the words "at long last" and couldn't scroll past them. The year Grant had surgery, I slept in his hospital room for seven nights. The folding chair was so narrow that every morning, when the nurse came in, I had to brace a hand against my back before standing to let her through. The day he was discharged, Grant held my hand and told me how lucky he was to have me. Had this "real home" already existed back then? The flowers from his retirement dinner were still sitting in the dining room. The card tucked among them read, To your next adventure together. I put the card in a drawer, photographed the divorce agreement, and sent it to my attorney, Naomi Hayes. We arranged to meet the next day. Naomi had finished cataloging our assets months ago. All she had been waiting for was my decision.