Years After The Divo:Rce, He Started Mocking Her Again But Found Her With Triplets And A Private Jet…

The last moments of Laura’s marriage were etched into her memory. She sat frozen on the cream leather sofa, fingers trembling on her teacup, as Curtis stood across from her, cold and unreadable.

“I’ve signed everything,” he said flatly. “We weren’t going anywhere, Laura. No children, no spark. I can’t keep waiting for something that will never come.”

Her voice cracked. “I tried, Curtis.”

But he was already gone—walking toward the red SUV where Carol, the woman from his office, waited with a smile and red lipstick.

Twelve years of shared life ended in silence and ink drying on divorce papers.

Yet what Curtis didn’t know was that the “sample” he left behind, the one legally hers, would soon become her last thread of hope.

In the doctor’s office, her heart shattered again. “Your chances of natural c0nception remain extremely low,” Dr. Evans said. Only one option remained: IVF with donor sp:erm—or an existing sample.

That night, tears streamed down her face as she whispered to her best friend Margaret, “There’s no chance—at least not naturally.”

Margaret squeezed her hand and said softly, “Natural doesn’t mean much these days, does it?”

Laura hesitated for days, the quiet of her townhouse pressing in on her like a sealed vault. Each room still carried ghosts of Curtis—his cufflinks in the drawer he never fully emptied, the faint cologne clinging to an old coat in the closet. She had boxed most of it away, but one thing remained in a discreet metal tank at the fertility clinic: the preserved sample Curtis had signed over years earlier, back when they still dreamt of nurseries and midnight feedings.

Dr. Evans had reminded her gently, “Legally, it’s still yours to use. The consent forms were never revoked.”

For the first time in years, Laura allowed herself to imagine a future not defined by loss.

She went through the IVF cycle alone. No hand to hold. No one in the waiting room. Just Margaret, who brought her ginger tea and whispered hope into every silence. The first transfer failed. The second nearly broke her. But the third…

Three heartbeats.

Three.

She sat in stunned disbelief as the sonographer turned the monitor toward her. “Triplets,” the doctor said, his voice almost reverent. Laura pressed her palms to her lips and laughed—a raw, trembling sound pulled from somewhere deep.

The years that followed were grueling and golden all at once. Sleepless nights, bottles lined like soldiers on the counter, bills that stacked higher than the changing table. But she built her life back piece by piece. With Margaret’s encouragement, she revived her dormant event-planning business, and within five years, she was the name behind celebrity galas, luxury charity balls, and high-end corporate launches. Her company went international. Private clients. Private contracts. Private flights.

By the time the triplets turned six, they could spell “Santorini” better than most adults and thought boarding a jet was as normal as catching a bus.

And then—Curtis showed up again.

It happened at the anniversary gala of Harrington Global, one of Laura’s largest clients. She arrived in a slate-blue gown, hair swept back, a quiet power in her stride. The children were with their tutor, waiting on the jet at the airstrip—they were due to leave for Edinburgh that night.

Curtis was already there.

He spotted her across the marble-floored lobby, his arm draped around Carol, who wore a glittering dress and a smirk that hadn’t aged well. His eyes widened for a blink, then narrowed with familiar disdain.

“Well,” he drawled as he approached, “if it isn’t Laura Frost. Still planning parties and pretending it’s a career?”

His words were meant to sting—but she barely felt them. She only arched a brow, a small amused smile at the corner of her lips.

Before she could reply, a voice behind Curtis called out, “Mrs. Frost! The jet is fueled and ready whenever you and the children are.”

Heads turned.

Curtis blinked, confusion pinching his brow. “Jet?”

Laura didn’t look at him. She simply thanked the attendant graciously.

But then another voice—higher and sweeter—rang out through the hall:

“Mama! Mama, we practiced the bow just like you said!”

Three children in tailored outfits bounded toward her—two boys and a girl, each with Curtis’s unmistakable green eyes and Laura’s smile. The room went silent as they wrapped their arms around her legs.

Curtis went pale.

Carol took a step back, eyes wide.

One of the boys looked up innocently at Curtis and said, “Are you lost, sir?”

Laura finally met Curtis’s stare, her expression calm and unshakable.

“Mock me all you want,” she said evenly, “but don’t ever underestimate what you leave behind.”

Curtis couldn’t find a single word.

And for the first time since the day he walked away, Laura didn’t need him to.