Watch Me Marry Someone Else, My Dear Ex-Husband

“Your biological father is looking for you, Hayley. Would you want to see him? He’s been wanting to talk to you.” My lawyer’s assistant said over the phone.

I took a shaky breath. “Tell him… tell him I’m divorcing Marco now,” I said, my voice so steady it surprised even me. “If he really wants to make up for the last twenty years of pretending I didn’t exist, then he should pick me up after a week. Take me far away from here.”

There was a pause. The assistant cleared their throat. “You’re divorcing your husband, Marco? Are you sure about that, Hayley?”

I let out a soft, humorless laugh. “Yes. It’s final. Draft the papers. I’ll make sure he signs them immediately.”

I didn’t wait for a reply. I hung up. The phone slipped from my hands, landing on the scratchy blanket that covered my battered legs.

My palms trembled as I reached for the sleeve of my hospital gown and pulled it up, just enough to see the twisted, angry scar that slashed across my right forearm.

A reminder of just how deep betrayal could burn.

Three days ago, I was caught in a fire sparked by Sandra. My best friend. The same Sandra who had been sleeping with my husband.

She barged into my boutique and started yelling, telling me that I should leave Marco. Not even hiding their affair anymore. Then, in a blur, she knocked over a canister of cleaning solvent, grabbed a candle off the shelf, and threw it down.

I screamed. Flames burst to life faster than I could react. But when the smoke began to spread, Sandra didn’t help. She didn’t run. She watched. Smirked. And when she finally stumbled out, crying and clutching her wrist, she blamed it all on me.

By the time the paramedics arrived, the damage was done. I was the one burned. The one unconscious. The one blamed.

And Marco? He stood outside the ambulance, arms around Sandra, jaw tight like none of this mattered. When the doctor told him I needed a blood transfusion — that I’d lost too much and was already in danger — he didn’t flinch.

“She’s four months pregnant,” the doctor added carefully. “Without urgent care, she and the baby could both—”

“I don’t care,” Marco snapped. “Just save Sandra. That’s all I want. I don’t give a damn what happens to the other one.”

The other one. As if I was a stranger. As if I wasn’t the woman he married. As if I wasn’t carrying his child.

Later, when I came to, blistered and bandaged, I asked the nurse about the baby.

She hesitated. Her eyes were too soft, too sorry.

“I’m so sorry, Mrs. Villaruel,” she said. “We did everything we could. But it was too late.”

My phone buzzed, snapping me out of the memory. Marco’s name flashed across the cracked screen. For a moment, I considered letting it ring. Maybe he’d think I was dead this time, a small mercy.

But I answered. I always did. That’s who I was, the good wife. The invisible one.

“Where the hell are you?” Marco’s voice was sharp enough to slice through my skull. “Sandra wants caviar tonight. The best. So go find it.”

I swallowed. “I… I can’t. I’m still in the hospital. The doctor said I need—”

“You think I give a damn?” he snapped. “If I want you here, you show up. Or did you forget your mother’s heartbeat is in my hands? If I switch off that machine, she’ll die. And it’ll be your fault. You want that, Hayley?”

A lump lodged in my throat. The words refused to come. I just closed my eyes. “No. I’ll come.”

“Good girl,” he sneered. And the line went dead.

I sat there, numb, the phone slipping from my fingers. I didn’t want to move. Every part of me screamed to stay curled up under the sterile hospital blankets, to pretend the world outside didn’t exist.

But then the door cracked open and the nurse stepped in, looking anywhere but my eyes. “Mrs. Villaruel… I’m so sorry, but… Mr. Villaruel called. He said you need to leave now.”

I blinked at her, my throat tight. “I can’t even stand—”

“He insisted,” she said quietly, already gathering my things, setting my bag on my lap like this was normal. “He… he said you know what would happen if you didn’t.”

The threat lingered in the air. My mother’s heartbeat.

So I let her help me to my feet. It took everything I had to shuffle down that blinding white hallway.

The city blurred past the window, neon lights dancing on my half-healed scar.

The car stopped in front of the Villaruel estate. One more week, I reminded myself. Just one more week and I will free myself.

I flinched at the sound of laughter inside.

I was halfway up the driveway when it happened.

A splash. Cold, muddy water hit my face and drenched my hair, soaking into the thin coat I’d thrown over my hospital gown. I gasped, nearly slipping on the wet stones.

“Oops!” a voice called down from the balcony above. I looked up and there she was. Sandra. She pressed her fingertips to her lips, feigning surprise. “God, Hayley. I didn’t see you there. What a shame.”