Three months into my pregnancy, my husband suddenly asked for a divorce.
I rushed to find him, only to overhear him chatting with a friend, claiming he had been reborn—that he'd come back in this life specifically to make things right with his childhood sweetheart, Delia Pruitt.
His friend was stunned. "Are you out of your mind? Your wife is three months pregnant. Aren't you afraid she'll get so angry she'll terminate the pregnancy?"
James Stevens laughed it off, utterly unconcerned. "Why would I worry? Linda Hayward went through ten rounds of IVF to finally get pregnant. There's no way she'd just throw that away."
"Besides," he continued, "if she divorces me, she can go back to her parents. But Delia has no family. After divorcing that deadbeat, she's been raising her kid all alone. Do you know how hard that is?"
"I've got it all figured out. Once Delia's child turns ten, I'll go back to Linda. It's only five years. No big deal."
I stood frozen outside the door, numb to my core. My fingers moved on their own, dialing a number.
"Hello. I'd like to schedule an abortion. As soon as possible."
Later, James deliberately arranged for us to finalize our divorce on the same day he and Delia would register their marriage.
But this time, things were different.
That day, the man who had always been so aloof, so coldly composed, looked like he'd lost his mind. His eyes locked onto my flat stomach, his voice cracking with something close to hysteria. "Where's my child? Where's our child?"
"You promised me you wanted to have a baby with me!"
...
"Linda, are you sure you want to go through with this? After everything you went through for this baby..."
My mother's voice broke over the phone, and guilt twisted in my chest.
She had been the happiest person in the world when she found out I was pregnant.
She knew what it had cost me.
A full year of choking down bitter herbal medicine. Nine failed IVF cycles. It wasn't until the tenth attempt that I finally conceived.
The moment the test results came back positive, my mother had wept with joy.
She believed that with a child, James and I would finally settle into a real marriage. That he would step up, become a responsible husband, learn to put family first.
But today, I realized how terribly wrong we had both been.
The phone rang, sharp and insistent. I answered mechanically.
James's voice cut through, cold and harsh. "Linda, how much longer are you going to drag this out?"
"Even if I can't divorce you while you're pregnant, the moment that baby is born, I'm filing immediately."
"And let's be real—raising a child costs money. You've done nothing but sit at home since we got married. Eating my food. Spending my money. All you do is a little housework. That's it."
"No one's going to want a woman who just gave birth and comes with a brat attached. You have no income, no prospects. When the time comes, you won't get to keep the child. You won't get to keep me. You'll have nothing."
Every word dripped with contempt. He reduced everything I'd given to this marriage—every sacrifice, every exhausting day—to nothing. And he called my baby a brat.
It felt like a blade dragging across my heart, slicing it open all over again.
"James." My voice came out quiet, steady.
He went silent on the other end.
"I agree to the divorce."
A pause. Then his tone shifted, bright with barely contained excitement. "Really? Great. Let's do it in five days."
His voice softened, turning almost coaxing. "Linda, don't worry. I just want to take care of Delia and her child. I won't cross any lines."
"Focus on your health. Have the baby safely. I'll come visit you and the child once a month."
"I've already bought so many clothes for the baby. I even picked out a name..."
He sounded almost giddy. But my mind was already drifting, detaching from his words.
In that moment, I knew I had truly let him go.
A soft chime broke through the haze. A text notification.
My gaze dropped to the screen.
