There was no way I’d tell Rio. He’d just see it as another one of my schemes, another trick to trap him. Fine. If he could be heartless, then I could be ruthless.
The surgery was scheduled for seven days later.
For the next few days, I drifted through life like a ghost, mechanically going through the motions—work, eat and sleep—trying to numb my heart. But my dreams betrayed me.
At night, I’d see Rio. He’d hold me gently, his hands caressing my stomach, his eyes filled with love. He’d whisper that he would take care of me and the baby, promising me the happiness I had always longed for. I would smile, but as the dream unfolded, tears would slip from my eyes.
And then I would wake up. My pillow would be soaked. It had all been a dream. But the pain was real—sharp, gut-wrenching, inescapable.
Reality was crueler than any nightmare.
Rio never came back. He was still with Bethany, plastered all over the tabloids, flaunting their love for the whole world to see.
On my phone screen, Bethany’s heavily made-up face loomed large, curled up in Rio’s arms, posing seductively for the camera. A message followed.
“Hazel, did you see this? This is your husband. Look how much he loves me. He can’t get enough of me.”
He taunt continued, “You’re nothing but his pet. A dog he can kick aside whenever he pleases. Woof woof, are you wagging your tail yet?”
Then came Rio’s low chuckle in the video. His fingers pinched Bethany’s cheek.
“Don’t be so mean, baby. She’s served me for years and…”
His words trailed off, but that sneering tone—more venomous than any curse—made me sick to my stomach.
I stared at the screen, feeling my stomach churn, but no matter how hard I tried, I couldn’t throw up. I’d already been vomiting bile for days. I threw away everything that reminded me of Rio over the last six years—photos, gifts, clothes—nothing was left.
Bethany, you won. You succeeded in making me sick, in making me utterly lose faith in this marriage, in this man.
Dragging my tired body home, I had hoped for some semblance of comfort from my family. Even just a simple greeting would have sufficed. But instead, I was met with a barrage of harsh words.
“Look at you! You’re way too old to still be acting like a child!”
My mother’s sharp voice pierced the air, each word a knife twisting into my already shattered heart.
“Rio has everything. Why didn’t you just appreciate him? Why should you go for divorce? Have you lost your mind?”
I gave a bitter smile. In their eyes, Rio’s good qualities mattered more than my happiness.
Their so-called concern was nothing but fear of losing their cash cow.
“He cheated on me,” I said it weakly, my voice hoarse.
“Men fool around all the time. What rich man doesn’t have a mistress? Just turn a blind eye and move on!”
My little brother Nate, who lived off my support, now had the nerve to lecture me, “You really are out of your mind. As long as he’s giving you money, who cares what he does? You’re lucky he even married you!”
I looked at their greedy faces and suddenly, I felt so tired, so drained.
Family, it turns out, wasn’t much of a sanctuary when money was involved.
I always thought home was supposed to be a refuge, a safe place.
But now, I realized there was no escape.
The day before my surgery, Rio asked to meet. He wanted to talk about the divorce papers. I thought, maybe, just maybe, he had finally come to his senses. Maybe he felt a shred of guilt, a hint of pity. But when I opened the door, it wasn’t Rio. It was Bethany, all decked out in thick makeup and a glaring red dress.
“You didn’t really think Rio would divorce you, did you, Hazel? He’s just playing you,” she sneered, her voice dripping with mockery.
