The 101st Divorce: Escaping My Husband and His First Love

1 My husband couldn't forget his "the one that got away." Whenever he went to keep his terminally ill childhood sweetheart company, he would drop hints, asking if we could get a divorce. Because her dying wish was to legally be his wife. Today, he hinted at it again. I didn't cry, and I didn't cause a scene. I just calmly said, "Okay." Because we had already had this exact conversation ninety-nine times. Today was the one hundredth. And I had finally found the perfect reason to convince myself to walk away. I had a miscarriage. Our baby was gone. Now, the only thing connecting him and me was a thin piece of paper—our marriage certificate. 2 Seven days after my miscarriage, I ran into Arthur at the mall. He was carrying bags full of shopping, and the look in his eyes as he gazed at Chloe was so tender it could melt ice. But the moment he saw me, his brow furrowed in instant displeasure. "What are you doing here? Didn't we agree to get the divorce finalized first? Are you telling me you're backing out?" He looked at me defensively, his gaze so icy it pierced straight through to the bottom of my heart. Chloe gave him a playful, chiding look before turning to me with an apologetic smile. "Evelyn, please don't misunderstand. Arthur is just eager for us to get married." As she spoke, her eyes subtly darted toward my stomach, a triumphant smile playing on her lips. "Our wedding is set for next week. You and the baby are more than welcome to come watch the ceremony." I instinctively touched my flat stomach. Before I could even speak, Arthur cut me off. "How can a pregnant woman come to a wedding? It’s bad luck. We don't want her bringing that negative energy around you." My hand stiffened against my abdomen. Once again, I was shocked by Arthur's sheer cruelty. Chloe had a terminal illness, but he didn't think she was "bad luck." He practically lived at the hospital with her, but he didn't think that was "bad luck." I was carrying his own flesh and blood, yet he thought I was bad luck. It was incredibly ironic. But then again, I wasn't Chloe. Why would I be worth his concern? If he cared even a fraction, he would have shown up at least once while I was hospitalized trying to save my high-risk pregnancy. He knew I was there. If he had bothered to ask me a single question, he would have known. Our baby was already gone. Seeing my silence, Arthur didn't care. He lowered his head and went right back to discussing wedding details with Chloe, entirely ignoring my existence. I watched them quietly, a flood of memories flashing through my mind. Ever since Chloe was diagnosed with her terminal illness, Arthur had become a completely different person. He stopped caring about our unborn child, and he stopped coming home. Disappearing without a trace became his new normal. At first, he would say: "Evelyn, Chloe is severely ill. I have to be by her side." "Don't worry, it's just out of pity. There's nothing else going on." Later, it changed to: "Evelyn, Chloe's dying wish is to marry me. I don't want her to leave this world with any regrets." I knew the unspoken meaning behind his words, but I refused to acknowledge it. He had dropped that "hint" ninety-nine times. And I had found ninety-nine different excuses to reject him ninety-nine times. Until the one hundredth time, when he stopped hinting. That day, I had just finished my 32nd hormone injection to try and save the pregnancy. The moment I walked out of the clinic, I received a text from Arthur. There was no concern, no comfort. Just a cold, hard notification. [Meet me at the courthouse the day after tomorrow at 9 AM. We are getting a divorce.] 3 That one sentence completely shattered my world. That day, I collapsed on the concrete floor of the parking garage, dialing Arthur's number over and over again. But in the end, the only call that went through was to 911. The doctor told me they couldn't save the baby. I lay in the hospital bed from dusk until dawn, waiting for Arthur. The only thing I received was a single text from him. [Stop calling me. The ringing is too loud.] I stared at the message on my screen, biting my lip until it bled. Arthur, I'll give you what you want. After this, we will never have anything to do with each other again. I wish you happiness. My memory abruptly ended there. Arthur nudged my shoulder, reminding me coldly, "Remember to meet me tomorrow to sign the divorce papers. Don't pretend you're sick again." I froze for a second, then remembered. On the third day after my miscarriage, Arthur had called me. It was the only phone call he made, and he made it while standing outside the courthouse. At the time, I had just finished an all-night IV drip, and I was in terrible shape. When I answered the phone, my trembling finger accidentally hit the speakerphone button. Arthur's impatient, furious voice echoed throughout the entire hospital room. "Evelyn, is this fun for you?" "We agreed to divorce at 9 AM, and it's already noon! What kind of excuse are you going to use to back out this time?" Under the strange, pitying gaze of the nurse, I used every ounce of strength I had to stop my voice from shaking. I replied softly: "I'm in the hospital." The breathing on the other end of the line stopped for a sharp second, then quickly returned to normal. I heard Arthur's dismissive scoff. "Enough. Stop making excuses. I'll give you one last chance." "Next Wednesday. I'll see you at the courthouse." He hung up. The nurse didn't say anything; she just quietly walked out of the room. The moment the door clicked shut, the last shred of my dignity was completely destroyed. It was in that moment I realized that the most painful thing isn't the harm inflicted by the person you love. It's the pity from bystanders while the person you love is destroying you. I closed my eyes, pulling myself out of the mud of my memories. "Okay," I said. 4 Arthur raised an eyebrow and continued, "After we sign the papers, just stay home and focus on your pregnancy. Don't bother me unless it's an emergency." "Okay." Perhaps because I agreed too easily, Arthur actually looked a bit stunned. He loosened his arm around Chloe's waist and let his gaze drop to my stomach. "How is the baby? Being good lately?" The moment the words left his mouth, my eyes instantly stung. I had to use all my willpower to swallow the lump in my throat. "Good. Very good." So good that even when it left, it couldn't bear to cause me pain for too long. Terrified that I would lose control of my emotions, I didn't dare say another word. I turned around and walked away. As we brushed past each other, I noticed a smudge of lipstick on Arthur's collar. It was the exact same shade Chloe was wearing. And the exact same color as the blood on the parking garage floor that day. As I walked past a maternity boutique, a sales associate enthusiastically waved me down. "Ms. Hayes! The outfit you ordered arrived!" "Is today a good time to pick it up?" I wanted to say I didn't need it anymore, but my eyes were uncontrollably drawn to the poster of the smiling baby in the window. If my baby had been born safely, they probably would have been just as cute. While I was zoned out, the associate efficiently bagged up the clothes and handed the bag to me. It was a pastel yellow baby onesie. Arthur's favorite color was yellow. I stared blankly at the tiny outfit in the bag, then fled the mall like a wounded animal. The moment I closed my car door, the dam broke. How agonizing is the suppressed cry of a mother who just lost her child? In that moment, I finally knew. It was late at night by the time I got home. The moment I opened the fridge, I saw a papaya sitting inside. I couldn't eat it while I was pregnant, and my mouth would always water whenever I saw it. Now, I was allowed to eat it. But looking at it, all I wanted to do was cry. I went into the kitchen and made two things. A bowl of papaya milk dessert, and a bowl of chicken porridge. 5 Just as I was about to eat, I heard the sound of keys turning in the front door. Arthur walked in, carrying an empty suitcase. I found it strange. He hadn't been home since Chloe's "condition" worsened. "Why are you back? Don't you need to keep Chloe company?" Arthur dragged the suitcase straight into the bedroom, saying casually, "I'm marrying Chloe soon, aren't I? I came back to pack up my things." "Might as well get it out of the way now to save the hassle later." I gave a soft "mhm," but my mind uncontrollably flashed back to what Chloe had said. [Our wedding is set for next week. You and the baby are more than welcome to come watch.] Right. There were only a few days left. If he didn't move his things out now, they might be tainted by my "bad luck." A tear fell into my bowl, vanishing silently—just like Arthur's love for me. But it didn't use to be like this. He used to look forward to the birth of this child, too. We had been so happy for so long. I lowered my head, preparing to eat my porridge, but Arthur, having finished packing, suddenly spoke up: "You made chicken porridge?" "Perfect timing. Chloe didn't eat dinner tonight. This will be perfect to settle her stomach." Without waiting for an answer, he walked over and naturally snatched the bowl right out of my hands. I stared at my empty hands, forgetting how to react for a moment. It wasn't until he had found a clean Tupperware container that I finally found my voice: "That was my dinner." Arthur didn't even look up as he packed the food into the container. "There's other stuff on the table, isn't there? Just eat that." My gaze drifted to the bowl of papaya dessert. I forced a bitter smile and said softly: "Pregnant women aren't supposed to eat papaya." Arthur froze for a second, setting down the Tupperware. "Then... maybe just eat a little bit of it?" "You've been to so many checkups and everything has been fine. A few bites shouldn't hurt, right?" My nose burned. I tilted my head up, refusing to let the tears fall.