I stared at the ceiling, eyes dry and burning.
The housekeeper had left yesterday morning.
My due date was yesterday. He didn’t even
remember. The smell of antiseptic felt
suffocating.
“Don’t bother coming back. We’re getting a
divorce.”
Josh laughed, a cruel sound. “Olivia, my baby’s
still inside you. You want a divorce?” Then,
“Besides, do you really want to leave me?”
Three years of marriage, three years of chasing
him. Dressing him when he was cold,
comforting him when he was sad, always there
<
for him. Everyone thought he was the moon and
I was dirt. I thought so too, so I gave him
everything.
Before we married, my mom, frail in her
hospital bed, had asked, tears in her eyes,
“Olivia, are you sure? Josh is from a different
world. If he hurts you, I can’t protect you like
this.” Her twig–like hand gripped mine. I told
her not to worry. “Josh wouldn’t hurt me. He
said he’d take care of me forever.”
Mom’s words were prophetic. I couldn’t tell her
how wrong I’d been. My husband forgot my due
date. While I lay dying, he was with his ex. I
used to think no one could have a heart of
stone, but Josh’s was harder than granite. He
reveled in my unconditional devotion, but gave
me nothing in return. This unequal marriage
was long overdue to end.
I exhaled, my voice steady. “I’m sure. Then you
and Mia can finally be together.”
<
Josh paused. “Are you jealous? There’s nothing
between us. Don’t be petty.”
I forced a smile. “I’m not jealous. Stay with her.
I need to rest.”
He didn’t like that. “I’m your husband. You’re
telling me to be with someone else?”
“Olivia, stop being dramatic. Mia’s in a worse
state than you. If she really jumped, would you
be happy? It’s a human life.” His voice rose
sharply.
So he knew the value of a life. What about my
dead child?
My face was expressionless. “I’ll mail you the
divorce papers.”
He sounded amused, his voice laced with ice.
“Fine, Olivia. You said it. Don’t regret it.”
<
Ten days later, I signed the papers. I included
the death certificate and a letter. When Mom
was at her worst, she’d gripped my hand and
asked, “Olivia, what will you do if Josh truly
hurts you?” Her eyes held deep worry. I’d
squeezed her hand. “If he hurts me, I’ll leave
him. I won’t love him again, not in this life or the
next.” I wrote those words in the letter.
I sent the package to his family’s mansion. Then
I called Ethan, a former colleague in Germany.
He picked up instantly, his voice cool and
hesitant. “Olivia?”
I hummed softly. “It’s me.”
“Is your research institute still hiring? Thinking
of taking me in?”
“Of course,” he said without missing a beat. “I
told you, you’re always welcome here.” Warmth
spread through me.
<
“I’d like to bring my mother. Can you help me
find a good nursing home?”
Ethan chuckled. “No problem. Can you manage
traveling with your mom alone?”
“I’ll come to Germany first, check things out,
then bring her over.”
After a bit of small talk, he casually asked,
“Does your husband know you’re coming to
Germany?”
Thinking of Josh, my voice chilled. “He doesn’t.
Because he’s dead to me.”
Ethan paused, feigning sadness. “Oh, really?
That’s…unfortunate.” “Let me know when you
get here. I’ll take you out to clear your head.”
He hung up quickly and, minutes later, sent me
a confirmation for a first–class ticket. [Come
tomorrow. Your apartment is always ready.]
<
The next day, after checking out of the hospital,
I flew to Germany. The moment I landed, my
phone exploded with notifications. Dozens of
calls and texts from Josh. Instagram friend
requests.
