For my birthday, my in-laws asked me to meet them at an upscale restaurant. when i got there, the room was completely empty. waiting on the table were divorce papers already signed, and a note saying, “happy birthday. infertile trash should just leave.” i cried quietly and finished dinner alone. they had no clue what was coming afterward.
My name is Eleanor “Ellie” Harding. Today is my thirty-fifth birthday. I’ve spent seven years married to the Harding family, a wealthy, old-fashioned family in Greenwich, Connecticut, who built their fortunes from the steel industry and openly disdain anyone who doesn’t bear their surname.
My husband, Richard Harding III, is the embodiment of cold arrogance. And my mother-in-law, Vivian Harding, is a crowned ice sculpture.
Today’s date was a surprise. Richard said his mother had reserved a private table at The Onyx, the most luxurious French restaurant, to celebrate my birthday and ease the recent tensions. I wore my best little black dress, hoping a little kindness would melt away the venomous whispers about my inability to bear children—an accusation that had plagued me for the past three years.
When I arrived at the restaurant lobby, the manager, impeccably dressed in a tuxedo and sporting a professional smile, led me upstairs to The Diamond Room, a private room typically reserved for multi-million dollar business deals.
As the heavy wooden doors swung open, I stepped inside.
The room was completely empty.
No Richard. No Vivian. No congratulations.
Only a single table, set for one person, sat in the center of the spacious room, illuminated by flickering candlelight and elegant white lilies. The silverware gleamed, but there was only one set of cutlery.
I stopped. Disappointment and confusion welled up inside me, then turned into misunderstanding and finally anger.
I stared down at the table. Between the gold-plated plate, placed on a meticulously folded cream-colored napkin, lay two items unrelated to food:
A thin stack of papers: Signed Divorce Papers.
A small white piece of paper, handwritten in Vivian’s crisp black ink.
I picked up the piece of paper.
“Happy birthday. You infertile piece of trash should leave. Your bank account will receive a temporary deposit. Never contact us again.”
My breath hitched. My eyes were fixed on the phrase “infertile piece of trash.” This was the cold, cruel end to seven years of my sacrifice. They couldn’t face me; they’d rented a private room, ordered a lavish dinner, only to get rid of me with a written statement and an insult.
Hot tears welled up, but I wiped them away. I wouldn’t cry. I wouldn’t give them that satisfaction.
I looked around the luxurious room. They paid for it. They paid for this dinner.
I pulled out a heavy leather chair and sat down.
I took out my phone and photographed the divorce papers, the venomous note, and the empty table. Then I turned off my phone.
When the waiter returned, I offered a cold smile.
“Sorry, but no one’s coming,” I said. “I’ll be dining alone.”
I ordered the most expensive item on the menu: A5 Wagyu Tenderloin, classic Bordeaux wine, and for dessert, molten chocolate cake.
I wept silently, swallowing my tears with each bite of the delicious beef. Each clink of knife and fork was a vow. Each sip of wine was an antidote to the humiliation.
I finished the entire meal, from appetizer to dessert, and ordered one last glass of strong liquor.
They had no idea what was about to happen.
Chapter 2: Eleanor’s Investigation
When I left The Onyx, not with anguish, but with cold focus. I had signed the divorce papers, but I had taken a picture beforehand. I wouldn’t cause a protracted divorce battle. I needed to act quickly and quietly.
I wasn’t “infertile trash.” The problem wasn’t me. I had secretly taken a test three months earlier. Richard was infertile. He knew it. Richard and Vivian had decided to blame me to protect the Harding family’s honor.
The next day, I packed my bags and left the big house. But I didn’t go far. I rented a small, unluxurious apartment right in the heart of Greenwich.
What had seven years as a Harding daughter-in-law taught me? Money isn’t the only power. Power is information.
I wasn’t stupid. Before marriage, I was an extremely skilled financial data analyst. After marriage, Vivian forced me to quit. But I never lost my skills.
I began my revenge mission.
1. Financial System: I accessed the Harding family’s bank statements. Over the years, I had helped Richard manage his personal investments. I had all the necessary passwords. I quickly uncovered a massive debt: The Harding family had invested their entire fortune in a struggling biotechnology company, “Phoenix Biotech.” If this project failed, Harding Steel and all their assets would be liquidated.
2. Medical Secrets: I obtained Richard’s test results. He had visited a clinic in Switzerland and been diagnosed with complete infertility.
3. Adulterous Relationship
“I’ve never told anyone this, but I have a twin sister who died in an accident when we were teenagers.”
I looked at Richard. “After the divorce, I used my frozen eggs and stored sperm from my sister’s late husband, a man Richard knew very well. I used in-vitro fertilization (IVF) and found a reliable surrogate. I gave birth to my daughter, Charlotte, on my birthday three years ago. Richard doesn’t know. Vivian doesn’t know.”
Charlotte stepped forward. “My biological father died before I was born. But my mother used a Harding’s sperm.”
Richard roared. “Nonsense! Whose sperm did you get?”
I smiled, a final smile.
“You asked me, Richard.” I used sperm from your cousin—Edward Harding, who died in a roller coaster accident 10 years ago. You know what? Edward secretly loved me when I was your girlfriend. He left me his frozen sperm in his will, in case he died and I needed an heir with Harding blood.”
The Final Twist:
Not only do I have a child with Harding blood that Richard couldn’t have, but this child is the legitimate daughter of his late cousin.
A few weeks ago, I secretly adopted Charlotte, who was conceived from Edward’s sperm. And most importantly: Edward Harding, according to his will, left his entire inheritance—a large portion of Harding Steel—to his only biological child.
I filed the paperwork with the court this morning.
“Excuse me, Richard,” I said, holding a glass of champagne. “You sent me away with the favor of an expensive dinner. But I will return as the Mother of Edward Harding’s true heir. His heir owns the largest stake in the company.”
Vivian Harding collapsed. She had driven away the “sterile piece of trash,” only for that seat of power to be seized by the daughter of a deceased enemy—an enemy the Harding family itself had ignored.
Richard and Vivian had lost their fortune, their honor, and now they had to watch a child bearing Harding blood, born from the very man they had insulted, step in and take over their empire.
I stopped crying. I took a sip of champagne. My birthday party had finally paid off.
