I Ran Into My Ex at a Clinic and He Humiliated Me for Not Giving Him Kids for 10 Years, Unlike His New Wife – My Reply Made Him Crumble

A voice that I believed I had permanently left the clinic pierced the atmosphere as I sat in the waiting area. Sneering, my ex-boyfriend exhibited his very pregnant wife and said, “She gave me kids while you never could.” He was beaming like he had won. He had no idea how saddened he would be by my response.

I gripped my appointment slip while I looked at the posters for fertility tests and pregnancy classes that lined the walls of the women’s health clinic’s waiting area.

My stomach clenched in that familiar knot of anxious excitement. This session seemed like the beginning of a new chapter in my life after everything I had been through.

A voice I hadn’t heard in years cut through the room like a rusty knife as I was browsing through my phone:

“Look who’s arrived! I assume you made the decision to get tested at last.

I went cold. My stomach fell directly to the ground. We used to have those terrible arguments in our kitchen, with that voice, speaking with that certain kind of vicious enjoyment.

I looked up to see my ex-husband, Chris, smiling as if he had spent his entire life practicing for this moment.

“My new wife already gave me two kids — something you couldn’t do for ten years!”

Then a woman appeared behind him. The size of her tummy indicated that she was roughly eight months pregnant.

“Here she is!” Leaning down to put a hand on the woman’s belly, his chest swelled like a henhouse rooster. “This is my wife, Liza! We anticipate having our third.

He gave me a cruel grin as if he had just struck me in the spot.

He believed he could make me look bad, but he was unaware of how disastrously that plan would turn out.

I was thrown back ten years by that arrogant smile.

He saw me when I was eighteen, the bashful girl who believed she had won the jackpot because I had been picked by the class’s most popular boy.

18 and naïve enough to believe that love was as simple as holding hands and smiling forever, like those “Love Is…” mugs from my grandmother’s kitchen. No one told me about the quarrels over vacant nurseries.

My idealized vision of a happy ever after was quickly dashed when we got married shortly after graduating from high school.

Chris wanted a housekeeper who could make babies on demand, not a spouse. Every holiday became a reminder that the nursery was still vacant, and every peaceful supper became a hardship.

Every month, it felt like the house’s walls were closing in a bit more.

Every negative test he gave me felt like evidence that I wasn’t a good enough woman.

He would murmur, “If you could just do your part,” during those awful dinners when the only sound was the scrape of silverware on plates. No shout could ever penetrate the piercing blame in his eyes. “What’s wrong with you?”

Every time I passed a playground or heard a friend announce another pregnancy, those four words became the theme music for my twenties.

The worst thing? I trusted him.

I cried every time a test came out negative for years because I wanted that baby too. However, he saw my suffering as evidence that I was only a malfunctioning piece of machinery.

I felt less than human after hearing his statements.

I began aiming for something of my own after years of that unrelenting resentment.

I began attending night classes at college. I had clung to the hope of finding employment and establishing a life outside of our quiet home somewhere in the shadow of his unrelenting reproach.

When I indicated that I wanted to take a psychology course, he labeled me “selfish,” “You should be concentrating on providing me with a family. Before you realize it, your ovulation calendar will clash with your coursework. Then what?

I enrolled in the seminar even though I had no response to the question.

By then, we had been married for eight years. It took me two more years of being vilified before I finally snapped.

When I eventually signed those divorce papers with trembling hands, I felt ten pounds lighter. It was like breathing for the first time after leaving that lawyer’s office.

Chris had returned and was ready to continue his previous course of degrading me and making me feel unworthy.

I did, however, have a secret weapon this time.

A soft, comforting hand brushed my shoulder as I was straining to gather my thoughts.

“Honey, who is this?” With a water bottle and coffee from the clinic café in his hand, my spouse inquired. I had come to adore the protective edge in his voice. His face furrowed with concern at my look.

After glancing at him, Chris’s face changed from one of bewilderment and incredulity to one of apparent panic.

At six feet three, Josh, my current husband, had the serene assurance that comes with never having to prove anything to anyone. He was built like he was still playing college football.

I told Josh gently, “This is my ex-husband, Chris,” while observing my ex’s Adam’s apple bob as he forcefully swallowed. “We were just catching up.”

I gave Chris a smile.

I’m not usually cruel, but after everything he’d done to me, I couldn’t resist the opportunity to shave him to size.

It’s odd that you thought I was getting tested when you saw me here today. You know, I went to see a fertility doctor during the final year of our joke marriage, and it turns out that I’m in excellent health,”

I remarked. “In fact, I thought you were here to get tested since it seems like your swimmers were never in the pool.”

Like smoke from a freshly discharged pistol, the words lingered in the air.

His jaw dropped. Like water from a shattered dam, the smugness vanished from his face.

“That’s not possible! His voice cracked as he muttered, “That’s… that’s not.” “It was you. You were solely to blame. “Observe her!” He pointed to his wife’s abdomen. “Does that look like my swimmers aren’t in the pool?”

Liza’s face turned as white as snow as her hand sprang to her stomach. She resembled a deer caught in headlights.

I whispered, “Your wife doesn’t seem to agree with you,” “I’m going to assume that your adorable children don’t resemble you in the slightest, Chris. Do you believe that they inherit their mother’s traits?

I’d obviously touched a nerve. Chris turned to scowl at Liza, his face burned redder than a ripe tomato.

“Babe,” she said in a tremulous murmur. It isn’t what you believe. I cherish you. I genuinely adore you.

I cocked my head, examining them both as though they were interesting species. “Yes, you do. Apparently, though, he is not the source of those babies. To be honest, I don’t blame you; it could have been easier to simply visit a sperm bank, but at least you managed to silence him about having children.”

The quiet was overwhelming. My ex’s swaggering confidence vanished, and he appeared like a young boy who had lost his mother in a busy store.

He mumbled, “The kids…” “My kids…”

“Whose kids?” I inquired politely and softly.

At that moment, Liza began to cry—those silent tears that appear when everything changes around you. Black streams of mascara trickled down her cheeks.

With an almost audible voice, he asked her, “How long?” “How long have you been lying to me?”

As if the world had timed it just, a nurse opened the door, pointed to me, and exclaimed: “Ma’am? Your first ultrasound is scheduled.

It was the ideal irony. My ex’s world fell apart like a house of cards, and here I was, finally getting to see my baby.

We left them in a stillness so oppressive it could shatter glass as we went together toward that door.

I didn’t turn around. Why would I?

After three weeks, I was folding little onesies when my phone buzzed.

My blood ran cold when I saw that the caller ID was Chris’s mother.

“Do you realize what you’ve done?” When I replied, Chris’s mother let out a cry. “He underwent paternity testing! He doesn’t have any of those kids! Not one! He’s divorcing that chick now! He has kicked her out while she is eight months pregnant.

I responded gently, “That sounds difficult,” as I looked at a small yellow sleeper with ducks on it.

“Hard? Everything was damaged by you! “He cherished those kids!”

“Well, if he’d gotten tested years ago instead of blaming me for his problems, he wouldn’t be in this situation, would he?” My voice was as quiet as still water as I answered. “Seems to me more like Chris just got a healthy dose of karma.”

“You’re evil,” she shot back. “You destroyed an innocent family.”

I blocked her number after hanging up. Then, with baby clothes and hope all about me, I sat in the nursery and laughed until my eyes welled up with tears.

I felt the familiar flutter of warmth as I rubbed my expanding stomach.

My darling. The child I’d longed for for years, and the indisputable evidence that I was never the issue.

Sometimes the most destructive weapon you have is the truth. Justice can sometimes speak in your voice and wear your face.

Living a good enough life that when your past tries to harm you, it ends up destroying itself is sometimes the best kind of retaliation.