The second video showed May Lambert seated in front of the camera, Kathleen Summers beside her, one hand resting on her belly.
“Look at this. Now THIS is a proper wife. She's about to give the Lambert family a big, healthy grandson! That last one was dead weight, just taking up space. Couldn't have a baby and never said a word about it. If that's not trapping a man into marriage, I don't know what is.”
The third video was a solo shot of Kathleen.
“Thank you all for the kind wishes. Gordon and I are going to build a wonderful life together. As for Anna, I've always felt bad for her. But Gordon suffered so much. I just couldn't stand watching him go through that anymore. I hope my love can heal him.”
Below the videos, the group chat had exploded with replies.
Some called Gordon a real man. Others called me conniving.
I tried to open the alumni group chat, only to find: “You have been removed from this group.”
Gordon had really gone all out. Kicked me from the chat first, then spread his lies, making sure I couldn't say a single word in my own defense.
But it didn't stop there.
Jessica's call came in, her voice shaking with fury.
“Anna! Do you have any idea what that bastard Gordon is planning?”
“What?”
I took a sip of water, keeping my voice even.
“He's throwing a wedding banquet next Tuesday at the Hyatt on the west side of town! Fifty tables! An invitation literally showed up at MY door!”
The mandatory cooling-off period ended on Monday. He couldn't even wait a single extra day?
Fifty tables?
At the Hyatt?
That was one of the most expensive five-star hotels in the city. Even the cheapest banquet package ran several thousand dollars a table.
Gordon had three thousand dollars left in his account. Where was he getting the money for a fifty-table reception?
“How is he paying for this?”
“He's telling everyone the demolition payout is about to come through. Signed IOUs with the wedding planner and the hotel, promising to pay it all off once the money lands. Everyone's saying he's about to be a multimillionaire. Relatives who haven't spoken to him in years are crawling out of the woodwork trying to get on his good side!”
I set down the glass and laughed out loud.
It was genuinely hilarious.
Spending my family's demolition payout to play big shot.
And the funniest part? He still had no idea that the infertile one was him.
The second year of our marriage, May had started hounding us about having a baby.
Gordon and I went to the hospital for a full workup.
The day the results came back, the doctor pulled me aside and told me the problem was with Gordon.
Severe asthenospermia. Bilateral obstruction of the vas deferens. Less than a five percent chance of natural conception.
I held that report in my hands, and because I was afraid of crushing his pride as a man, I hid it.
I told May it was my body, that I had trouble conceiving, that I was working on it.
May jabbed her finger in my face and screamed at me for a solid hour. Gordon put his arm around me and made a show of being comforting.
I carried that blame for three years.
And he turned around and dumped every last drop of that filth on my head, stepping on my reputation to pave the way for his true love.
Fine.
I wasn't angry.
With someone like him, losing my temper was the most useless thing I could do.
He wanted to look respectable?
He wanted a grand wedding to clear his name?
I'd let him have it.
The next morning, my phone rang before I was even fully awake.
“Anna. Gordon and Kathleen's wedding banquet is next Tuesday. You're coming. Bring a cash gift.”
May's voice was loud and self-righteous, dripping with the smugness of someone who'd finally gotten the upper hand.
For a second I thought I was still dreaming.
“You hear me? Gordon took care of you for three years. You got a sweet deal out of this family. He even let you walk away with the apartment for free! Now he's celebrating, and as his ex-wife, a five-thousand-dollar gift isn't too much to ask, is it?”
I laughed. ：“Five thousand dollars? Do you people have some kind of fantasy about how much money I have?”
“Don't you dare cry poor to me! If you don't show up with that gift, I'll go straight to your office and hang a banner out front so every last one of your coworkers can see what a barren waste of space you really are!”
She hung up on me with a sharp click.
Less than five minutes later, a message from Gordon popped up on my phone.
“Anna, I didn't tell you about the wedding because I didn't want to hurt you. But if you really can't let go, you're welcome to come see it for yourself. Watching me find happiness might help you find closure.”
“Of course, just give what you can afford. The cash gift doesn't matter as long as you show up.”
Unbelievable.
He wanted my money AND my attendance.
Did they think I was that pathetic?
Had everything I'd done for that family over the years made them think I was a doormat?
So without hesitation, I typed back four words：“I'll be there.”
In the days that followed, I made a trip back to my hometown first, using the excuse of needing to sort out some Social Security paperwork to dig out the old property deed and photograph every page. Then I called Jessica at the Housing and Urban Development office and had her send me a digital copy of the official demolition notice, stamped and sealed, with the sixteen-million-dollar compensation figure printed in black and white.
Using my marriage certificate, which still hadn't been updated, I went to the state hospital and pulled the urology report from three years ago.
I stared at the diagnosis on that sheet“severe bilateral vas deferens obstruction, sperm motility: zero”and laughed, cold and sharp.
Gordon, oh Gordon. You couldn't produce a single swimmer if your life depended on it, and yet you had the nerve to parade your mistress's baby bump around like a trophy.
The horns on your head were tall enough to scrape a skyscraper, and you were still walking around dreaming about fatherhood.
The day my divorce was finalized, I walked straight out of the courthouse and into the nearest high-end department store, where I paid twenty thousand dollars cash for a couture red dress.
No more of his nagging. Being alone felt incredible.
In the fitting room mirror, a woman with crimson lips and gleaming eyes stared back at me. Every trace of the worn-down, self-sacrificing housewife I'd been for three years was gone.
Next Tuesday at the Hyatt, I was going to give Gordon Lambert a wedding gift he'd remember for the rest of his life.
