His Infertile Wife Novel Novels & Stories

"Fine. Say it." "I heard that your wife is sterile. People have been whispering about it for a while. At first, I thought it was nonsense, but now I’m convinced it’s true. Dammit, Nathan, when were you planning on telling me? How can you stay married to a woman who can’t give you the heir you need? And don’t tell me you don’t want children—every man wants a child." "You should divorce her and marry someone like Sarah. She’s had fertility tests done, and she’s perfectly capable of bearing children—unlike that woman upstairs who’s useless even for that," she says coldly, making my blood boil at the way she speaks about Giselle.

Every month a cycle of hope and heartbreak, every night a reminder of failure, every embrace a duty more than a desire. Still, she forced a small nod. “I know.” He reached for her hand under the blanket, his grip warm, searching. “Let’s not give up. God’s timing is perfect, Emelia. We have to keep believing.” She swallowed hard, unable to find words. His faith was unwavering, his heart good. And yet, in the pit of her soul, she knew belief wasn’t her problem. It was desire. Because even now, as her husband pleaded for closeness, her thoughts were elsewhere—drawn to another man who had no right to occupy her.

“Your husband is suffering from a condition where the seminiferous tubules in the testes lack germ cells, which are required to form sperm.” “I’m still not getting you,” Cara said, voice tight. “Would you speak in a language I can understand?” Madam Davis demanded at the same time. The doctor sighed and delivered the news plainly. "Mrs Davis, I’m sorry, but your husband can’t father children. He’s infertile.” “That is absurd!” Madam Davis shot to her feet, her face flushed with outrage. “How can you sit here and work together with this woman…” she gestured rudely at Cara "…to dupe me?”

I just knew that it was a mess. Through the crack in the door, I saw Andrew's body pressing down on top of Ian. They were both kissing each other passionately while exchanging sugary yet disgusting sweet nothings. "Do you love your wife, Andy?" Ian asked, pouting. I had never heard such contempt and abhorrence in Andrew's voice as I did then when he replied, "If I did, I wouldn't have gotten some other guy to have sex with her and make it seem like she cheated on me."

The reason for the divorce was that I was disloyal and made a terrible mistake that ruined the reputation of our family. My wife, Jean Shaw, the person that I had loved and doted on for 10 years, abandoned me when I needed her the most. I couldn't believe what I was seeing and decided to call her. My hand was trembling so much that I could barely hold my phone. On the other end of the line, Jean's voice sounded a little proud and relieved. "Sign the agreement, Felix. Your career is over. Stop struggling. Save yourself the embarrassment." "You're the one who wrote... the whistleblower report?"

Since he was so excellent at it, I didn't mind helping him out by clarifying the extent of his shamelessness. As I pinned Liam down, I said, "On my birthday, he and my wife played a game that involved him shoving a tennis ball up her crotch. She ended up in the hospital because of it, and I was the one who performed the operation. "Later on, his wife found out that he had been blaming her for their infertility issues, so she divorced him. It seems even fate thinks he's a total scumbag, since he suffers from extremely poor sperm quality. There's close to zero chance of him ever having his own child.

After Dominic Hatch loses his memories, he refuses to believe that I'm his wife. "If you really are my wife, why is it that there aren't any photos of us together?" I explain to him that he doesn't like taking photos. That's why we didn't even have a wedding portrait of us. But soon, Dominic digs out nine thick and heavy photo albums from a hidden compartment in his safe. The main characters in those albums are him and another unfamiliar woman. There are countless photos documenting their journey—from they were still children to when they had completely grown up. The pure and innocence on their faces slowly give way to the sappy love and affection they have for each other. In fact, Domi

"Why? You don't want us to be friends?" "I don’t want to!" My forehead creased. "But why?!" I ask him a bit confuse. "Your my wife Mara. I don't want to be friends with you. I want more than that!" I suddenly felt my heart beat faster. "But we've tried that before. And look where it lead us." "Mara... wife..." he pleaded. I disagree. "No Maru. I don't want to go back to that process again. Now there is no other value in my life but Baby Tanya. "

Alina shook her head faintly. “No.” A pause. “I’m just no longer pretending it didn’t hurt.” Silence. Heavy. Then Lucien noticed something else. Ethan was watching from across the room. Waiting. Patient. Interested. Something dark moved instantly through Lucien’s expression again. Possessiveness. Sharp and immediate. “She’s still my wife,” he said suddenly. Alina looked at him for a long second. Then calmly replied, “Only on paper.” That answer hit him harder than expected. Because she said it without emotion.

Just enough. Elena pushed the contract towards him. “My mother first.” “Tonight,” he said. “And I’m not your toy.” His gaze lifted to hers. Dark. Steady. Close enough now that she could see a faint scar cutting through one eyebrow. “No,” he said. “You’re my wife.” The word hit harder than it should have. Wife. Her pulse stumbled. Adrian held out his hand, then paused. “May I?” The question was quiet. Almost private.