Reddit Stories - Spouse SEPARATED from me FOLLOWING numerous UNSUCCESSFUL efforts to conceive, claiming I was...

Episode Date: November 28, 2025

Summary: After numerous unsuccessful attempts to conceive, my spouse separated from me, claiming I was the reason for our struggles. This unexpected decision left me heartbroken and questioning the relationship. I reflect on our journey, the emotional toll of infertility, and the impact it had on our marriage and connection.

I hope you enjoy this story. Spouse separated from me following numerous unsuccessful efforts to conceive, claiming I was incapable of bearing a child, and then I conceived with my current partner, but my former spouse insisted on compensation. Him back $50,000 for the treatments after finding out he was the one with fertility issues all along. I believe my husband, Greg, and I were on the same page about building a family. We were young, in love, and filled with dreams of a few.

full of laughter, little feet running through the house, and all the chaos that came with parenthood. For the first couple of years, it felt like everything was falling into place. We were financially stable. We had just moved into a cozy home and started trying for a baby. At first, it was exciting, timing cycles, taking vitamins, and imagining how we'd announced the news to our families. But as months turned into years, the hope that had carried us began to feel heavier. After about a year of trying with no success, we sought help. Doctors' visits, blood tests, ultrasounds, and even awkward conversations about Greg's health which he was very defensive about became a regular part of our lives. Each appointment brought new suggestions

and treatments to try. Every month, we told ourselves this would be the one. But it never was. The first few years were hard, but we supported each other. When the tests came back in conclusive, nothing outright wrong with me, we clung to the idea that we just needed more time. That's when we started fertility treatments. I remember how invasive it all felt. The hormone shots, the constant monitoring, and the endless barrage of medications left me emotionally and physically drained. The treatments were expensive, but Greg insisted we couldn't put a price on building our family. I agreed because, at the time, I thought we were fighting for the same dream. The first round of treatments failed, then the second, and the third. Each time I saw that negative

test, I felt like I'd been punched in the stomach. I blamed myself, convinced there was something wrong with me that doctors just couldn't find. Greg started pulling away during this time, though I tried to tell myself it was his way of coping. He stopped going to every appointment and became less enthusiastic about discussions of the next steps. One night, after another failed cycle, down. I sobbed in the kitchen. Greg just stared at me from across the room. I told him I didn't know how much more I could take, and for the first time, he admitted he was exhausted too. He said he was tired of living life on a schedule, of hoping for something that felt impossible, and of watching me torture myself emotionally and physically for a dream that seemed out of reach.

His words hurt, but I understood. I told him I was willing to take a break from the treatments if that's what we needed. I still wanted a baby, but I didn't want to lose my marriage in the process. But Greg's idea of a break was different from mine. A few weeks later, he sat me down and said he couldn't do it anymore. He didn't just want a break from treatments, he wanted a break from me, from us. He said he was tired of fighting what he called a war we'd always lose. He filed for divorce within the month. I was blindsided. We had spent nearly a decade together, and I thought we were in this as a team. How could he just walk away from everything we'd built, from the life we'd envisioned together? He told me it wasn't just the treatments,

it was everything. He said he felt like we were living in a loop of disappointment and that he couldn't see a way out. Looking back, I think he was looking for a scapegoat. He needed someone to blame for his unhappiness, and I was the easiest target. In his mind, I was the one who couldn't give him what he wanted, even though the doctors had never definitively said the issue was mine. The divorce was brutal, not just because of the emotional pain but also because of the practicalities. We had spent tens of thousands of dollars on fertility treatments, and he made it clear that he felt it was a waste. He didn't say it outright, but his tone and demeanor made it obvious that he held me responsible. After the papers were signed, I was left with nothing but my

half of the savings and a gaping hole in my heart. I didn't just lose my husband. I didn't just lose my I lost the future I'd spent years dreaming about. For months, I couldn't even look at a baby without feeling a mix of sorrow and anger. But as the months passed, I realized I didn't miss Greg as much as I thought I would. The man I had married was kind, patient, and supportive, but the man I divorced was bitter and detached. I missed the version of him that no longer existed, and that realization helped me start to move on. But the first year after the divorce was a whirlwind of emotions. I felt shattered like I had failed not just Greg but myself. The constant cycle of hope and disappointment from our fertility treatments had left scars I wasn't sure would ever

heal. I poured myself into my career, taking on new challenges and reconnecting with passions I had put aside during my marriage. My friends, who had been sidelined during my years of obsessing over fertility, were quick to welcome me back into their lives. They became my lifeline, reminding me that I was more than the label of infertile woman that I had worn like a badge of shame for so long. Around eight months after the divorce was finalized, I met someone new Evan. He wasn't the kind of man I usually went for. Where Greg had been intense and driven, Evan was calm, kind, and steady. He didn't have a big, flashy career or a meticulously laid out five-year plan. Instead, he had a quiet confidence and a genuine interest in getting to know me for who I was.

At first, I was hesitant to let him in. My past with Greg had left me wary of relationships, especially ones that might lead to marriage or, heaven forbid, another round of the emotional roller coaster that was trying to start a family. But Evan was patient. He didn't push me to open up or rush into anything. Slowly, I found myself letting my guard down. Evan and I started spending more time together dinners at cozy little restaurants, weekend hikes, and quiet nights watching movies on his couch. He made me laugh in a way I hadn't in years,

and his gentle encouragement helped me see that I was still capable of love and being loved. About four months into our relationship, something unexpected happened. I began feeling unwell, nausea, fatigue, and a strange aversion to my morning coffee. At first, I thought it was just stress or maybe the flu. But when the symptoms persisted, I decided to see my doctor. Sitting in the sterile exam room, I told the doctor about my symptoms, half expecting her to chalk it up to a virus or dietary changes. Instead, she suggested a pregnancy test. I laughed nervously and told her that was impossible. After years of failed fertility treatments, I had accepted that pregnancy wasn't in the cards for me. But the test came back positive. I stared at the doctor

in disbelief, waiting for her to tell me it was a mistake. When she didn't, I burned. into tears not just from shock but from a deep, overwhelming sense of joy. After everything I had been through, I was finally going to have the baby I had dreamed of for so long. Evan was just as stunned as I was when I told him the news. He wrapped me in his arms, a big grin spreading across his face, and told me that this was the best surprise he could have ever imagined. His excitement was contagious, and for the first time in years, I allowed myself to hope. A follow-up appointment with my doctor confirmed the pregnancy was healthy and progressing normally. It was during that visit that I asked a question that had been

nagging at me since the positive test result, how was this possible when years of fertility treatments with Greg had failed? The doctor explained that sometimes stress and emotional strain could impact fertility. But then she asked if Greg had ever been thoroughly tested. I admitted that he had always resisted, insisting the problem wasn't on his end. She nodded thoughtfully and said it wasn't uncommon for couples to focus solely on the woman's fertility, even when male factors could play a role. The conversation lingered in my mind as I left the office. Could it be that Greg was the one with fertility issues all along?

The possibility made my stomach churn. During our marriage, he had been so quick to blame me, so certain that I was the one at fault. I had spent years feeling broken because of his words, only to discover now that the problem might never have been mine. Still, I chose to focus on the present. Evan and I threw ourselves into preparing for the baby, turning his spare room into a nursery and pouring over parenting books together. My parents and close friends were over the moon when I shared the news, and their joy only added to my own. I had discussed with Evan that regardless of how new our relationship was I was determined to go through with this pregnancy. He wouldn't have to take

any responsibility in the future if he decided to leave now. But if he wanted to be with me or the baby or the both of us, he could be open with his feelings. After waiting for so long, this pregnancy was a miracle to me. As the weeks passed, the thought of Greg lingered at the back of my mind. Part of me wanted to reach out, to tell him about the pregnancy and the doctor's comments about male infertility. Not to rub it in his face, but to give him the chance to reflect on his actions and perhaps seek answers for himself. But another part of me wanted to keep this chapter of my life completely separate from him. In the end, I decided not to tell him. This pregnancy was my miracle, my fresh start, and I didn't want anything, or anyone, to overshadow it. With each passing day,

my excitement grew. The baby's first kicks were like tiny reminders of how far I had come and how much I had overcome. Still, I couldn't help but wonder if Greg would eventually find out about the pregnancy through mutual friends or social media. And if he did, how would he react? Would he feel regret for the way he had treated me? Or would he remain the same arrogant, self-centered man who had walked away when things got tough? For now, I chose not to dwell on it. My focus was on the future on the baby growing inside me, the new life I was building with Evan, and the happiness that had finally found its way back into my life. Update 1, the first hint that Greg had heard about my pregnancy came through a mutual friend.

One evening, while scrolling through my messages, I noticed one from Sarah, a former colleague of Gregg's whom I'd stayed friendly with. She congratulated me on the pregnancy, adding that Greg had reached out to her, seemingly fishing for information about my new life. My stomach tightened. It wasn't entirely surprising, but I had hoped. to keep him as far away from this new chapter of my life as possible. A week later, my phone lit up. It was Greg. I answered out of curiosity. His tone was sharp, almost accusatory,

as he asked if the rumors were true. Was I really pregnant? I told him calmly that I didn't see how it was any of his business, but yes, I was expecting. There was a long pause, and then he erupted, accusing me of lying during our marriage. He said that I must have known all along that there was nothing wrong with my fertility and that I had wasted years of his life and thousands of dollars on unnecessary treatments. His voice dripped with anger and disbelief as he insisted that I explained myself. I took a deep breath, willing myself to stay composed. I reminded him that I had undergone tests during our marriage and that every doctor we'd seen had focused on me because he had always refused tests for himself. I added that my current

pregnancy wasn't proof of anything other than the fact that circumstances had changed, and maybe it was time for him to take a closer look at his own health instead of jumping to conclusions. Greg scoffed, accusing me of deflecting. He said I had fooled him into believing I was the problem and that I owed him answers. I told him I had nothing else to say and ended the call. Update 2, I thought that would be the end of it, but I should have known better. A few weeks later, Greg called again, this time sounding more subdued. He admitted that he'd gone to a doctor and undergone tests for the first time. The results, he said, confirmed that he had a low sperm count and motility issues.

Factors that would have made conception nearly impossible without advanced intervention. Hearing him admitted out loud should have felt relieving, but instead, it stirred a mix of emotions. I thought back to all the years I had spent blaming myself, the countless nights I had cried alone, and the way his impatience and anger had chipped away at my confidence. It was hard not to feel a surge of resentment, knowing that all of it could have been avoided if he had just been willing to consider the possibility that he wasn't perfect. But Greg wasn't calling to apologize. Instead, he doubled down on his anger, telling me that I owed him for all the money we had

spent on fertility treatments during our marriage. He argued that since the issue had been his all along, the money had been wasted, and I was responsible for reimbursing him. I was stunned. It was as though he couldn't see the irony of the situation. Not only had he refused to consider his own role in our infertility struggles, but now he was trying to shift the blame and the financial burden onto me. I told him that the treatments were a joint decision, made during our marriage when we both believed they were necessary. I reminded him that we had shared the emotional and financial costs, just as we had shared the hope of starting a family. If he now saw those treatments as a waste, that was on him, not me. Greg didn't take kindly to my refusal. He accused me of being

selfish and ungrateful, claiming that he had sacrificed so much for me during our marriage and that I was now reaping the rewards without him. He even hinted that he might take legal action if I didn't pay him back the $50,000 he claimed to have spent a loan. The conversation left me shaken, but I refused to let his threats overshadow my happiness. I spoke to Evan about it that evening, and he was as supportive as ever. He reminded me that Greg's behavior was a reflection of his own insecurities and failures, not mine. Still, I couldn't help but feel a lingering sense of frustration.

Greg's inability to take responsibility for his actions had been a recurring theme in our marriage, and now it seemed he was determined to carry that pattern into our post-divorce lives. Update 3, as you all know, Greg's harassment started small, with a few emails and text messages repeating the same demand, pay him back the $50,000 he claimed I owed for the fertility treatments during our marriage. He insisted that since the issue wasn't mine, I should shoulder the financial responsibility for what he now deemed a waste of time and money. At first, I ignored him, hoping he would lose steam and move on, but Greg wasn't the kind of man to let things go easily. Within days, his tone shifted from accusatory to downright threatening. He sent

messages warning that if I didn't reimburse him, he would take me to court. He claimed he had receipts and proof of every dollar spent, and he was prepared to expose me as a liar who had taken advantage of him. The threats rattled me more than I wanted to admit. Even though I knew his claims were baseless, the idea of a legal battle while preparing for a baby felt overwhelming. I needed clarity and protection, so I reached out to my lawyer, Helen, for advice. Helen listened patiently as I explained the situation, her calm demeanor a stark contrast to my growing anxiety. She reassured me that Greg didn't have a leg to stand on. Fertility treatments, she explained, were a shared marital expense. It didn't matter who was ultimately responsible for the infertility.

The decisions we made as a couple during our marriage were just that, joint decisions. Helen also pointed out that Greg's threats bordered on harassment. She advised me to start documenting everything, every text, email, voicemail, and social media message he sent. If he continued to escalate, she said, we could consider sending a formal cease and desist letter. Her words were a relief, but they also reignited a sense of anger. For years, I had allowed Greg.

to control the narrative of our relationship, to make me feel small and responsible for every problem we faced. This time, I wasn't going to let him bully me into submission. The next time Greg emailed me, attaching screenshots of receipts from clinics and doctors, I forwarded it straight to Helen. She drafted a firm response, reminding him that I was under no obligation to reimburse him for shared marital expenses and warning him to cease contact immediately unless it was through legal channels. Greg, of course, didn't take the warning well. His emails became more erratic,

accusing me of manipulating the system and threatening to ruin me if I didn't comply. He even hinted that he might show up at my house to discuss things in person, which sent a chill down my spine. I talked to Evan about everything that was happening, and his support was unwavering. He told me that Greg's behavior was nothing more

than the tantrum of a man who couldn't accept his own failures. also suggested that we invest in a home security system, just in case Greg decided to make good on his threat to show up unannounced. With Helen's help, I filed a police report to document the harassment. While it didn't lead to immediate action, having an official record of Greg's behavior gave me a sense of security. I also blocked his number and set up filters on my email to ensure his messages went straight to a folder I rarely checked. Despite all this, Greg found new ways to escalate. He started contacting mutual friends and even some of my family members, spinning a sob story about how I had cheated him out of tens of thousands of dollars.

He painted himself as the victim of a conniving ex-wife who had deliberately lied about her fertility to milk him for money. It was infuriating to hear about the lies he was spreading, but I reminded myself that the people who mattered the ones who truly knew me wouldn't believe his nonsense. Sure enough, many of the friends he tried to rope and reached out to me directly, offering their support and expressing disbelief at Greg's antics. One particularly infuriating moment came when my cousin Janet called to tell me that Greg had shown up at a family barbecue she was hosting, uninvited, and spent the evening ranting about how I had destroyed his life. Janet, who had never liked Greg to begin with, promptly asked him to leave

and assured me that no one in the family was taking him seriously. Still, the constant drama took a toll. I hated the idea of Greg's negativity hanging over my pregnancy, a time that should have been filled with joy. Evan reminded me to focus on the positive, to remember that Greg's desperation was a sign that I had taken back control of my life. Helen eventually sent a cease and desist letter to Greg, warning him that any further attempts to contact me or involve third parties would result in legal action. She also reminded him that harassment was a serious offense and that his behavior could have consequences far beyond what he intended. The letter seemed to work, at least temporarily.

For a few weeks, there was blessed silence, no emails, no phone calls, no dramatic stories from mutual friends. I started to breathe a little easier, focusing on preparing for the baby and enjoying the piece that had been missing for so long. But Greg wasn't one to go down quietly. Just as I was beginning to think the storm had passed, he found a new angle. He sent a letter this time through his own lawyer stating that he was considering filing a lawsuit for emotional distress caused by my alleged deception during our marriage.

Helen laughed when she read the letter, calling it a desperate attempt to scare me into compliance. She assured me that the claim had no legal merit and advised me to continue ignoring Greg's antics unless he actually followed through with a court filing, which she doubted he would. Sure enough, the threat turned out to be an empty one. Greg didn't have the resources or the evidence to back up his claims, and after a few more weeks of silence, it became clear that he had finally given up or at least retreated to lick his wounds. The experience was exhausting, but it also reinforced something I had learned over the past year. I was stronger than I had ever given myself credit for.

Greg's attempts to intimidate and manipulate me had failed because I refused to let him dictate my life any longer. Update for the questions started rolling in shortly after my last update, and I was overwhelmed by the response. Many of you were curious about the logistics of what had happened since the divorce, especially concerning the house I had lived in with Greg. Some of you asked who got the house after the split, and others were wondering where Evan and I were now staying. To clear that up first, the house I had lived in with Greg wasn't actually ours to claim.

It belonged to his mother, my former mother-in-law. Greg and I had lived there as part of a long-standing arrangement, where his mother allowed us to stay in the house without paying rent, as long as we kept up with maintenance and treated it like our own. It was never officially in either of our names. When Greg and I split, it didn't exactly go to either of us. Greg tried to claim the house as his own in the aftermath, but he was technically a tenant, not the owner. His mother, understandably, wanted to avoid the drama and simply sold the place off. It wasn't something I fought for, mostly because I knew I had no legal right to it, and emotionally, I was ready to walk away from everything that reminded me of my failed

marriage. As for where Evan and I are living now, we're staying in Evan's house. It's a cozy place in a quiet neighborhood, and it feels like a fresh start in every sense. Evan had been living there for a while before we met, and it's actually one of the reasons I felt so comfortable and safe moving in with him so quickly. He wasn't just offering me a place to stay, he was offering me the security and stability I had craved for so long. Many of you were curious about how Greg knew where I was living now, especially given that I had gone to great lengths to block his contact. Well, it turns out that mutual friends and family had shared that information with him.

It's not like I was broadcasting my new address, but a few people people who didn't see Greg's actions as unreasonable decided to pass that info along. It wasn't a huge surprise, but it still irked me to know that my privacy had been invaded by people who should have known better. One of the most unexpected parts of this whole ordeal came when my father reached out to me. We hadn't talked much in the years before the divorce, and after everything that happened with Greg, I hadn't expected him to be a source of comfort. But when he found out about Evan and me, he started voicing concerns.

Dad wasn't one for subtlety. He came straight out and asked if I was sure about this relationship with Evan, especially with the pregnancy and everything that had happened with Greg. He told me that he didn't want me rushing into something just because I was desperate for a family. I understood the concern, but at that moment, I wasn't about to let his worries influence my decisions. I told him I wasn't desperate for a family I was building one. A healthy, supportive family with Evan, who cared for me in a way Greg never had. I wasn't rushing. I was embracing the new chapter in my life, and I was finally doing it on my

terms. I reassured him that I knew what I was doing. I wasn't trying to fill any void with Evan. This wasn't about desperation, it was about real love and real support. I could feel the worry in his tone, but I also knew that I had to stand firm. This was my life, and I wasn't letting anyone dictate my choices anymore. Dad didn't respond immediately. After a long pause, he told me that he just didn't want me to end up hurt again. He added that, he added that he didn't trust people like Evan, not right off the bat. I knew where he was coming from. He had seen the way Greg treated me, and he had witnessed the emotional rollercoaster of our marriage. But I wasn't about to let that cloud my judgment about Evan. I told him

that I appreciated his concern but that I had to live my own life. I had learned from the past, and I wasn't about to make the same mistakes again. My dad didn't say much after that, but I could tell he wasn't fully convinced. He still had his doubts, and I knew it would take time for him to come around. But I also knew that this was my life, and I had to live it on my terms, not his. My mother, on the other hand, was a little more understanding. She had been a rock for me during the divorce, and she knew just how hard the years with Greg had been. When I told her about Evan, she was happy for me but still voiced some concern about the timing of everything. She told me that she just didn't want me to get too overwhelmed with everything at once.

A pregnancy, a new relationship, it was a lot, especially so soon after everything with Greg. I could see where she was coming from. The timing wasn't ideal, but I wasn't overwhelmed. I was excited. I told her that I wasn't rushing into anything. I had thought long and hard about this decision. I wasn't doing this alone. Evan was there for me, and we were in this together.

I told her that we had discussed it beforehand. She didn't push the issue further, though I could tell she was still cautious. It was just her way of looking out for me, as always. I didn't mind, it meant she cared. Despite the concern from both my father and my mother, I couldn't help but feel like I was on the right path. Yes, everything had changed in the blink of an eye, and yes, the circumstances were far from ideal.

this was my new beginning.