Chapter 1
Lester Browning grabbed my chin, shoving the divorce papers in my face and making me sign. Meanwhile, Isla Fulton was lying in our bed, sending him a voice note.
"Lester, my head hurts. Where did you put the meds you got for me last time?" she said.
Lester let go of me and headed straight for the bedroom.
He didn't even bother to look at the red marks he left on my chin.
I lowered my gaze to the agreement. In the property division section, it stated, "Amalie Silva voluntarily relinquishes all marital assets."
Voluntarily. I let out a quiet, bitter laugh.
I picked up the pen and signed my name at the end.
Each stroke was firm, the pen biting deep into the paper.
*****
When Lester came out with the meds, I'd already slid the agreement to the center of the coffee table.
"I've signed it," I said.
He stopped in his tracks, glanced at the papers, then looked at me.
He probably hadn't expected me to sign so easily.
"Amalie, what are you up to now?" Lester asked, frowning, his voice full of impatient suspicion.
"I'm not playing games," I said, standing up and meeting his gaze calmly. "As you wish, I'm giving up my place. Hope you and Isla enjoy your happily ever after."
After that, I turned and walked toward the guest room.
The suitcase I'd packed earlier this morning was already waiting for me.
It was a 24-inch case, holding everything I brought with me when I first became his wife.
I didn't take a single thing Lester ever gave me.
The jewelry, the designer bags, and the credit cards were neatly arranged on the dressing table in the master bedroom.
"Where do you think you're going?" Lester asked, stepping in front of me. His eyes landed on the suitcase in my hand, and his face darkened.
"Moving out," I said, sidestepping him. "The divorce papers are signed. It's not right for me to stay here anymore. Ms. Fulton probably doesn't want to see me around."
"Amalie!" Lester grabbed my wrist, his grip so tight it made my bones ache. "I haven't agreed yet. The divorce isn't official until we both go to the courthouse and finalize it!"
"You will," I said, lifting my head and meeting his gaze without a trace of fear for the first time. "Lester, haven't you always wanted to marry Isla? Well, now I'm making it happen for you."
"You..." Lester seemed to stumble over his words, his expression shifting uneasily. "Isla's sick. I'm just taking care of her. Don't be unreasonable."
He said it again, claiming Isla was sick.
Isla had a congenital heart condition. She was Lester's eternal obsession and the poisonous thorn that had been lodged in my marriage for ten years.
Whenever she felt sick, Lester would drop everything and run straight to her.
He'd ditched me on our wedding anniversary, left me burning with fever at night, and even skipped my father's funeral to be with Isla.
"Yeah, she's sick," I said, nodding as I pulled my hand back. "So you better take good care of her. Lester, the divorce waiting period is thirty days. When it's up, show up on time. Don't keep me hanging."
I dragged my suitcase toward the door.
"Amalie!" Lester shouted from behind, his voice tight with anger. "Where are you even gonna go? The Silva family cut you off ages ago! You don't have a dime to your name!"
"That's my business," I replied.
I pulled the door open and walked out, not even glancing back.
"Oh, and one more thing," I said, pausing at the doorway and glancing over my shoulder. "Isla slept on the master bedroom sheets, so I tossed them. You two should get some new ones."
"And, Lester." I turned back, looking at my pale but steady face in the hallway mirror. "I'm pregnant."
In the mirror, Lester's eyes widened in shock.
"But don't worry," I said, flashing him a barely-there smile in the glass. "I got rid of it yesterday. I didn't want your child."
Then, the door slammed shut behind me.
It shut out Lester's frozen silhouette and whatever he might've said next.
The elevator started going down.
The numbers blinked, dropping one by one.
I leaned against the chilly wall, placing my hand gently on my stomach. It was still flat as ever.
Even so, I knew there was already a tiny life quietly growing inside me.
I was pregnant for two months.
Yesterday, I went to the hospital, planning to get an abortion.
On the operating table, with cold instruments beside me, the doctor asked again, "Are you really sure you want to do this?"
I stared up at the cold surgical lights, and every look Lester had given me over the past ten years flashed through my mind.
Indifferent, impatient, sometimes just pitying kindness. And most of the time, he had a distant, unfocused gaze, like he was always seeing someone else through me.
And then that picture Isla sent me last night popped into my head.
In the photo, Isla was wearing my silk nightgown, curled up in Lester's arms, throwing up a peace sign for the camera.
The caption said: [Amalie, Lester says I look way better in this than you ever did. He told me he's always wanted me to be the real mistress of this house.]
My stomach churned.
I suddenly sat up on the operating table, gagging.
I said hoarsely to the doctor. "I'm not doing it. I'm keeping the baby."