Our backyard was bustling with guests: Mason’s siblings, my family, his relatives, and our closest friends. Only Mason’s father, Thomas, wasn’t there.
My father-in-law disapproved of gender reveals, dismissing them as frivolous. “Gender should be revealed at birth,” he’d said gruffly. “This is unnecessary.” Respecting his opinion, I didn’t push it. Now, I wish he’d attended—perhaps things would have ended differently.
Standing by the cake with Mason, my hands shook with anticipation. Olivia clapped excitedly, Lyla bounced eagerly, and Everly tugged my dress, babbling happily. Then, we cut into the cake.
The first slice revealed pink cream. Another girl!
A stunned silence filled the air, ready to burst into celebration. But Mason exploded.
“Are you kidding me?!” he shouted, his voice slicing through the quiet. In a burst of rage, he grabbed the cake and hurled it across the yard, showering our shocked guests with frosting.
My daughters began crying, snapping me out of my shock. Olivia’s eyes filled with tears, Lyla clung fearfully to my leg.
“I can’t do this again!” Mason growled angrily. “Another girl?!”
“What’s wrong with you?” I demanded, horrified.
He ignored me, storming past everyone without even glancing back. “I don’t have time for another girl!” he shouted and vanished.
Mason didn’t return that night or the next. My calls went unanswered, and texts were ignored. Fear and anger kept me awake, but by the third day, desperation overcame pride. I contacted Thomas, sending him a video of Mason’s outburst and pleading for help.
Thomas immediately called back. His voice was firm but concerned. “Jules, I’m truly sorry. I never imagined he’d—” He paused, determined. “Whatever happens with Mason, I’ll ensure you and your daughters are taken care of.”
Even as we spoke, Thomas transferred a significant sum to my account, leaving me stunned.
“Why?” I asked, tears in my eyes.
“You and your girls are my family,” Thomas replied quietly. “Unlike my son, I know the difference between legacy and love.”
Weeks dragged by as I struggled to hold myself together for my daughters, haunted by unanswered questions—until I stumbled upon Mason again.
One afternoon, running errands, I saw Mason shopping in a baby store, briefly hoping he was buying something for our children. Instead, he stood at the checkout holding a crib clearly designed for a baby boy, accompanied by a young, pregnant woman who lovingly kissed him.
Shock propelled me forward. “This is why you left me and our daughters?” My voice trembled with rage.
Mason smirked coldly. “Well, Jules,” he said mockingly.
The woman’s expression shifted from joy to confusion. “You’re married?” she questioned sharply.
Ignoring her, I confronted Mason further. “You abandoned us because you couldn’t handle another girl, so you found someone else to give you a son? Thankfully, your father stepped up when you didn’t!”
Mason’s smirk widened cruelly. “You have no idea,” he sneered. “If you’d had a boy, we could’ve had everything.”
“What do you mean?” I asked, shaken.
His voice dripped with arrogance. “My father promised the family fortune to whoever gave him the first grandson.”
My stomach churned. Mason hadn’t left because of me—he left over greed. My daughters meant nothing to him.
I needed clarity from Thomas and arranged a meeting. He admitted the truth instantly. “Yes, I offered the inheritance to whoever produced the first grandson,” he confessed solemnly.
“You caused this disaster,” I accused.
He sighed deeply. “I intended motivation, not greed. Mason, however, has proven himself a fool, and fools deserve nothing.”
I left conflicted but validated—Thomas was flawed but not cruel.
Three weeks later, Mason served me divorce papers, announcing his engagement to his pregnant mistress. But fate had other plans.
In the delivery room, holding my mother’s hand, the nurse delivered surprising news: “Congratulations, you have a healthy baby boy!”
My ultrasound had been incorrect.
Two months afterward, Mason appeared on my doorstep, disheveled and desperate. “Jules, I lost everything,” he pleaded. “My father gave it all to you.”
I remained composed. “He did?”
He was frantic. “You had a boy? Jules—”
Interrupting coldly, I stated clearly, “Yes, I did. You, however, have nothing.”
Mason sank to his knees. “Please, I love you and our daughters—”
Everly’s tiny hand slipped into mine. I gently squeezed her fingers.
Quietly, firmly, I closed the door, knowing my family—Olivia, Lyla, Everly, and my son, Thomas Jr.—deserved far better than the man standing outside.
Finally, we were free.