Chapter 1
Henry Beaumont's first crush showed up at my door for the ninety-ninth time, claiming she was about to die.
He finally gave in and agreed to have a child with her.
But she was too frail and couldn't possibly handle giving birth. The whole process dragged on for three years.
During those three years, I had begged Henry to come back ninety-nine times.
On the day I decided to divorce him, I went to see him one last time.
Henry stood in front of the door, still not letting me in. "Eleanor's pregnant. I can't leave," he said.
"But she's too weak. Once the baby's born, I'll send it back to you to take care of," he added.
What he didn't know was that I had already sold the house.
He couldn't go back.
*****
The hundredth time I went to his first crush, Isla Merritt's house, looking for Henry Beaumont, I felt unusually at ease.
I rang the doorbell of the villa and, as usual, waited for an hour.
Finally, I saw my husband, from whom I had been separated for three years.
Henry didn't look happy; he probably misunderstood why I was there.
After all, I had begged him ninety-nine times to come home.
He stepped forward first, blocking me at the door.
"Ava, will you ever stop? Can't you give me a few days to enjoy my own life?" he said.
I was about to speak when a burst of cheers and music came from inside.
Isla, her flat belly gently rounded, walked over at a leisurely pace.
She laughed lightly and took Henry's hand. "Mrs. Beaumont, I'm pregnant. Henry is going to be a dad."
She said it slowly, emphasizing the last few words.
I glanced around the living room.
Many of the people inside were familiar to me—Henry's close friends and some high-ranking colleagues from his company.
A twinge of bitterness hit me.
Yesterday had been our daughter's third birthday, and he hadn't done a thing—didn't even come home for a single meal with us.
Seeing me standing there, stunned, Henry paused.
His tone softened considerably. "You should go home first. I'll talk to you when I have time to come back."
As the door was about to close, I hurriedly grabbed the hand he hadn't let me touch for three years.
He looked at me but didn't pull away.
Afraid he might get angry, I quickly pulled the divorce papers from my bag.
"I've had my lawyer look them over. There's nothing wrong—just sign them," I said.
Henry took the papers, his body stiffening for a moment before he quickly returned to his usual composure.
"I told you, Isla's been sick. I only gave her a child to make her happy," he said.
Isla's eyes reddened.
"Mrs. Beaumont, after I'm gone, I'll give Henry and this child back to you. Just bear with it a little longer," she said.
I looked up, blinking, a bitter edge tightening in my chest.
"Henry, I don't love you anymore. I want a divorce," I said.
His eyes casually swept over me, unreadable, as if he were lost in thought.
I met his gaze, no longer humble or pleading like before.
"Go ahead and sign it. You've already given Ms. Merritt a child. If you also give her the status of a wife, she'll probably be even happier," I pressed.
Tears still clung to Isla's cheeks, but at those words, a spark of delight appeared in her brow.
She tugged lightly at Henry's sleeve.
But Henry seemed not to notice. He fixed his gaze on me and suddenly pulled me into his arms.
"Ava, I know you miss me too much. That's why you're playing this kind of joke on me," he said.
In that moment, his tone made me feel as if we were back in the days when we still loved each other.
I let myself savor it for a second before pushing him away.
Henry brushed the stray hair from my forehead and let out a light laugh.
"Isla's pregnant. I can't leave her," he said, "But she's frail. Once the baby's born, I'll send the child back to you to take care of."
He thought that by yielding a little, I would change my mind.
After all, he had neglected me for three years.
I still loved him the same.
What he didn't know was that I had already sold the house.
There was no turning back for either of us.
Henry still hadn't signed the divorce papers.
For the first time in front of Isla, he'd chosen me—insisting on driving me home.
Midway, though, he got a call.
After he left, Isla had sunk into a funk, refusing food.
It had been less than ten minutes since we'd started driving, but he worried and, in the rain, forced me out of the car.
He wouldn't even leave me an umbrella.
I thought he wouldn't come back.
But after dinner, he stormed back into the house, furious.
He snapped, "Ava, what did you say to Isla?
"Why did she suddenly tell me she doesn't want the baby anymore after you left? Did you pressure her?"
His sudden accusation stunned me.
Henry hadn't spoken harshly to me in all the years he rarely came home.
My chest felt as if something inside was being torn apart. The pain made it hard to breathe.
I didn't want to argue.
Isla was his idealized first love, and now she was carrying his child.
Whatever I said, he wouldn't believe me.
When I ignored him, Henry grabbed the water glass from the table and hurled it toward me.
The glass shattered. Shards scratched my cheek, leaving lines of blood.
The loud crash terrified our daughter, who had just come back from the neighbor's house.
Henry looked toward the doorway. Two little girls stood there in identical clothes, shoulders hunched, clutching each other's hands.
He took a deep breath; remorse crossed his face for a moment.
Seeing me in that state, he stepped forward and pulled me into his arms.
Then he walked over to the girls and crouched down slowly. "Yvette, I didn't mean it. Did that scare you?"
I turned my head, and the tears I'd been holding back finally fell.
Our daughter let go of her friend and ran straight to me.
She was practiced at wiping my tears—she always did that after I came back from Isla's.
The little girl in front of Henry went pale and bolted for the door.
Time seemed to freeze.
Henry stayed crouched there, stiff, not getting up.
In that long moment, I cried until I was spent, and then I was done with him.
A husband who would even mistake his own daughter—what reason was there to stay?