Marrying My Sister’s Husband

After my sister died, I married her husband, Nick Ambrose. That made me the stepmom to my five-year-old nephew, Jayden Ambrose.

On my birthday, I accidentally wore one of my late sister’s dresses.

In front of everyone, five-year-old Jayden threw my birthday cake straight into my face.

He looked down at me, covered in frosting, with the same cold, emotionless stare as his father.

“Don’t think you can replace my mom just because you married into the Ambrose Family,” he sneered. “You gold-digging tramp.”

Then his voice dropped into something darker, hateful.

“I wish it had been you who died. Then, we’d be lighting candles for your memorial… not your damn birthday.”

“I swear, when I grow up, the first thing I’m doing is kicking you out of this house!”

The cake, overly sweet with extra frosting, slid toward the corner of my mouth, but all I tasted was bitterness.

I stared at the little boy I had raised with my own hands and, strangely, I just felt… done.

If a child doesn’t love you, maybe it's time to let go.

But after I left, both Nick and Jayden came crawling back, full of regret, begging me to forgive them.

——

“Aria, are you sure about divorcing Nick?” Mrs. Fusco asked me over the phone, her voice full of concern. “Jayden’s still so young. He needs you.”

I stood at the stove, one hand braced on the counter and replied calmly, “I married Nick because of the agreement. Jayden’s five now—he can take care of himself. He doesn’t need me anymore.”

I owed Mrs. Fusco a huge debt. To repay her kindness, I agreed to a five-year marriage contract. Five years of playing house, acting like the perfect Ambrose wife, taking care of Nick and his son. But the contract ends tomorrow. I’m finally free.

Before she could respond, I felt a sharp sting on my forehead. Something hard hit me.

A rock clattered onto the tiled floor.

My hands flew up to cover the gash. Blood trickled down my face as I turned to see Jayden standing just outside the window.

His arms were crossed, eyes narrowed with disdain.

“Snitching to Grandma again? Looks like that little lesson I gave you wasn’t enough. I should be sending you to the ground, keep my mom a company!”

I stared at him, stunned, as everything from an hour ago came rushing back.

It was my twenty-fifth birthday. I’d never celebrated one before, so I treated myself to a small cake. But I accidentally wore my late sister’s dress and the sight of it sent Jayden into a rage.

He snatched the cake and scrawled “RIP” across it with black paint. Then, for the final touch, he stuck white chrysanthemums on top—flowers meant for the dead.

My birthday cake had turned into a funeral offering.

He laughed, delighted with his work. “You think you deserve a birthday? If it weren’t for you, my mom wouldn’t be dead. And would have a broken family. Remember this: from now on, today isn’t your birthday—it’s your death day.”

Then, with everyone watching, he slammed the cake into my face and ruined the only day I’d been looking forward to.

I didn’t yell. I didn’t cry. I just walked to the kitchen in silence.

He followed me in, angry that I hadn’t reacted.

Jayden wasn’t satisfied. “What, you upset now? You’re so petty!” he snapped. “I swear, when I grow up, the first thing I’m doing is kicking you out of this house!”

I looked at him—this child I’d poured five years of love and energy into—and felt my heart sink.

I was so tired.

“You won’t need to,” I told him quietly. “I’m leaving this house tomorrow.”

Then I walked out and went to the living room to clean up the wound on my forehead. I was bandaging my bleeding forehead when I heard the shattering of glass from upstairs.

A chill ran down my spine.

I ran up the stairs and found the only keepsake my mother had left me—a jade bracelet—smashed into glittering pieces. The shards sparkled under the light, stabbing into my heart.

I dropped to my knees and picked them up one by one, careful not to cut myself. I hadn’t cried when Nick’s parent gave me hell for years. I hadn’t cried when Nick treated me like a stand-in for my sister, using me for stress relief and never anything more. I didn’t even cry when Jayden publicly humiliated me with the cake.

But now, looking at the broken bracelet my mom left me?

I broke.

The tears came fast, hot and out of control.

That bracelet was the last thing I had from someone who truly loved me. Jayden stood nearby, watching me crumble. Then, he smirked. “Hurts, doesn’t it? Having the one thing you care about destroyed? That’s what you get for killing my mom. Now I’ll destroy everything you care about. Murderer!”

That’s when I finally lost it.

I grabbed him by the arm and dragged him forward. “You pick all the pieces up now and put them back together!”

Shock flashed in his eyes. Probably because he had never seen me in such state. But before he could react, a hand shoved me hard—sending me back to the ground. 

“What the hell is wrong with you?” Nick glared at me with bloodshot eyes. “It’s just a bracelet. How could you go off on a kid over it?”

I sat there on the floor, stunned, staring up at the man I’d once vowed to love.

To him, it was just a cheap piece of jewelry. But to me, it was a treasure—the most priceless thing in the world.

Ten years ago, there was an earthquake in my hometown. My mother died protecting me—she used her body to shield me from falling concrete. The cement slab pierced right through her.

I lost her that day.

Mrs. Fusco found me years later when I was fifteen, paid for my schooling, gave me a future. That’s how I ended up here.

Nick must’ve realized he’d gone too far. He pushed Jayden out of the room and closed the door.

He came over, lifted me from the floor and laid me down on the bed, gently brushing away my tears.

“I thought you were more mature than this,” he said softly. “You shouldn’t be lashing out at a kid. You owe Jayden an apology.”

Then he leaned down and started unbuttoning my blouse.

“It’s your birthday. Let me make it up to you. Consider it a reward for everything you’ve done for this family.”

I inhaled sharply and pushed his hand away.

“Nick,” I said, voice calm but firm, “I want a divorce.”